UC-NRLF 


B    M    DTI    fl03 


GOLD 


PLAYS  BY 

EUGENE    G.    O'NEILL 

THE  MOON    OF  THE   CARIBBEES 

AND  Six  OTHER  PLAYS  OF  THE  SEA 

BEYOND  THE  HORIZON 

THE  STRAW 

GOLD 


G       O 


D 


A  PLAY  IN  FOUR  ACTS 


BY 

EUGENE  G.  O'NEILL 


BONI    AND 

PUBLISHERS 


LIVERIGHT 
NEW  YORK 


GOLD 
COPYRIGHT,  1920,  BY 

BONI   &  LlVERIGHT,   INC. 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


SCENES  OF  ACTS 

ACT  ONE — A  barren  coral  island  on  the  [fringe  of  the 
Malay  archipelago — Noon. 

A.CT  Two — Interior  of  a  boat  shed  on  the  wharf  of 
the  Bartlett  place  on  the  California  coast. 
An  afternoon  six  months  later. 

ACT  THREE — Exterior  of  the  Bartlett  house — dawn  of 
the  following  morning. 

ACT  FOUR — Bartlett's  "cabin" — his  lookout  post — at 
the  top  of  the  house.  A  night  one  year 
later. 

Time  of  the  play — About  the  year  1900 


055 


ACT  I 


CHARACTERS 

CAPTAIN    ISAIAH   BAETLETT,   of   the  whaling  ship, 

Triton 
SILAS  HORNE,  boatswain  of  the  Triton 

BEN  CATES  1 

T          ^  T  7     j    rof  the  Tritons  crew 

JIMMY  KANAKA,  an  Islander] 

BUTLER,  cool:  of  the  Triton 

ABEL,  the  ship's  boy 

SARAH  ALLEN  BARTLETT,  the  captain's  wife 

SUE,  their  daughter 

NAT,  their  son 

DANIEL  DREW,  officer  of  a  freight  steamer 

DOCTOR  BERRY 


ACT  ONE 

SCENE — A  small,  barren  coral  island  on  the  southern 
fringe  of  the  Malay  Archipelago.  The  coral 
sand,  blazing  white  under  the  full  glare  of  the 
sun,  lifts  m  the  right  foreground  to  a  long  hum- 
muck  a  few  feet  above  sea-level.  A  stunted 
coco  palm  rises  from  the  center  of  this  eleva 
tion,  its  bunch  of  scraggly  leaves  drooping 
motionlessly,  casting  a  small  circular  patch  of 
shadow  directly  beneath  on  the  ground  about 
the  trunk.  About  a  hundred  yards  in  the  dis 
tance  the  lagoon  is  seen,  its  vivid  blue  contrast 
ing  with  the  white  coral  beach  which  borders 
its  circular  outline.  The  far  horizon  to  sea 
ward  is  marked  by  a  broad  band  of  purplish 
haze  which  separates  the  bright  blue  of  the 
water  from  the  metallic  grey-blue  of  the  sky. 
The  island  bakes.  The  intensity  of  the  sun's 
rays  is  -flung  back  skyward  in  a  quivering  mist 
of  heat-waves  which  distorts  the  outlines  of 
things,  giving  the  visible  world  an  intangible 
eerie  quality,  as  if  it  were  -floating  submerged 
in  some  colorless  molten  fluid . ' 

As  the  curtain  rises,  ABEL  is  discovered  ly- 
1 


GOLD 

mg  asleep,  curled  up  in  the  patch  of  shade 
beneath  the  coco  palm.  He  is  a  runty,  under- 
sized  boy  of  fifteen,  with  a  shrivelled  old  face, 
tanned  to  parchment  by  the  sun.  He  has  on  a 
suit  of  dirty  dungarees,  man's  size,  much  too 
large  for  him,  which  hang  in  loose  folds  from 
his  puny  frame.  A  thatch  of  brown  hair  strag 
gles  in  limp  wisps  from  under  the  peaked 
canvas  cap  he  wears.  He  looks  terribly  ex 
hausted.  His  dreams  are  evidently  fraught 
with  terror,  for  he  twitches  convulsively  and 
moans  with  fright.  BUTLER  enters  hurriedly, 
panting,  from  the  right,  rear.  He  is  a  tall 
man  of  over  middle  age,  dressed  in  the  faded 
remainder  of  what  was  once  a  brown  suit.  The 
coat,  tlie  buttons  of  which  have  been  torn  off, 
hangs  open,  revealing  his  nakedness  beneath. 
A  cloth  cap  covers  his  bald  head,  with  its  halo  of 
dirty  thin  grey  hair.  His  body  is  emaciated. 
His  face,  with  its  round,  blue  eyes,  is  weathered 
and  cracked  by  the  sun's  rays.  The  wreck  of 
a  pair  of  heavy  shoes  flop  about  his  bare  feet. 
He  looks  back  cautiously,  as  if  he  were  afraid 
of  being  followed;  then  satisfied  that  he  is  not, 
he  approaches  the  sleeping  boy,  and  bending 
down,  puts  his  hand  on  ABEL'S  forehead.  ABEL 
groans  and  opens  his  eyes.  He  stares  about 
furtively,  as  if  seeking  someone  whose  presence 
he  dreads  to  find. 


GOLD  3 

ABEL — [In  a  husky  voice.]  Where's  Capt'n  and 
the  rest,  Butts? 

BUTLER — [In  a  hoarse,  cracked  whisper.] — On 
the  beach — down  there.  [He  makes  an  exhausted 
gesture,  right,  and  then  sinks  with  a  groan  at  the 
foot  of  the  tree,  leaning  back  against  the  trunk,  try 
ing  vainly  to  hunch  his  long  legs  up  so  as  to  be 
completely  m  the  shade.] 

ABEL — What're  they  doin'?  [With  avid  eyes.] 
They  ain't  found  no  water  yet? 

BUTLER — [Shaking  his  head,  his  eyes  closing 
wearily.]  No.  How  would  they — when  there  ain't 
any — not  on  this  devil's  island — dry  as  a  bone,  my 
sonny — sand  and  sun — that's  all. 

ABEL — [Remomtratingly — his?  lips  trembling  a 
little.]  Aw — maybe — you  don't  know  no  different. 

BUTLER — No.  Might  as  well  look  the  devil  in  the 
face,  sonny.  There's  no  water  here.  Not  a  damn 
drop.  No — nor  a  scrap  to  eat,  neither.  Only  the 
damn  sun.  [Weakly — touching  the  skin  of  his  face 
with  trembling  fingers.]  God !  My  face  is  like  the 
raw  inside  of  a  wet  hide !  If  it'd  only  rain !  [After 
a  pause — kindly.]  But  how  are  you,  eh?  Had  a 
good  sleep? 

ABEL — I  was  dreamin'  awful.  [With  a  sudden, 
shrill  agony — his  lips  twitching.]  I  need  a  drink  of 
water — something  awful!  My  mouth's  burnin'  up. 
[With  tremulous  pleading.]  Say,  ain't  you  got 
'nother  drink  left? — honest,  ain't  you? 


4  GOLD 

BUTLER — [Looking  around  him  cautiously.]  Not 
so  loud!  [Fixing  his- eyes  sternly  on  the  boy.]  This 
is  a  dead  secret,  mind !  You'll  swear  you  won't  blab 
— not  to  him? 

ABEL — Sure,  Butts,  sure!    Gawd  strike  me  dead! 

BUTLER — [Takes  a  pint  bottle  from  the  hip- 
pocket  of  his  pants.  It  is  about  half  full  of  water.] 
He  don't  know  I've  got  this,  remember!  He — and 
the  rest — they'd  kill  me  like  a  dog — and  you  too, 
sonny — remember  that! 

ABEL — Sure!  I  ain't  goin*  to  tell  'em,  Butts. 
[Stretching  out  his  hands  frenziedly.]  Aw,  give  it 
to  me,  Butts !  Give  me  a  drink,  for  Christ's  sake ! 

BUTLER — No,  you  don't !  I'll  hold  it  for  you.  Only 
a  few  drops.  You'd  have  it  all  down  your  throat. 
And  we've  got  to  be  careful.  It's  got  to  last  'til 
the  ship  comes  past  that'll  pick  us  up.  That's  the 
only  hope.  [Holding  the  bottle  at  arm9s  length  from 
the  boy.]  Hands  down,  now — or  you  don't  get  a 
drop!  [The  boy  lets  his  hands  drop  to  his  sides. 
BUTLER  puts  the  bottle  carefully  to  his  lips,  and 
allows  the  boy  two  gulps — then  snatches  It  away.] 
That's  all  now.  More  later.  [He  takes  one  gulp 
himself,  and  making  a  tremendous  effort  of  will, 
jerks  the  bottle  from  his  lips,  and  corking  It  quickly, 
thrusts  it  back  in  his  pocket  and  heaves  c,  shudder 
ing  sigh.] 

ABEL — Aw,  more!    Just  another  swaller 

BUTLER — [Determinedly.]      No  ! 


GOLD  5 

ABEL — [Crying  weakly.']     Yuh  dirty  mut! 

BUTLER — [Quietly.]  There!  Don't  get  riled. 
It  only  makes  you  hotter — and  thirstier.  [The 
boy  sinks  back  exhausted  and  closes  his  eyes. 
BUTLER  begins  to  talk  in  a  more  assured  voice, 
as  if  the  sip  of  water  had  renewed  his  courage.] 
That'll  save  us  yet,  that  bit  of  water.  A  lucky  notion 
of  mine  to  think  of  it — at  the  last  moment.  They 
were  just  lowering  the  boats.  I  could  hear  you  call 
ing  to  me  to  hurry  and  come.  They  didn't  care  if 
I  went  down  with  that  stinking  whaling  ship  or  not, 
damn  them!  What  did  the  dirty  cook  matter  to 
them?  But  I  thought  of  filling  this  bottle.  It'd 
been  lying  there  in  the  galley  for  two  years  almost. 
I'd  had  it  on  my  hip,  full  of  whiskey,  that  night  in 
Oakland  when  I  was  shanghied.  So  I  filled  it  out  of 
a  bucket  before  I  ran  to  the  boat.  Lucky  I  did,  son 
— for  you  and  me — not  for  them — damn  'em ! 

ABEL — [Struggling  to  a  sitting  posture,  evidently 
strengthened  by  his  drink.]  Gee  if  the  Old  Man  was 
wise  you  got  it 

BUTLER — He  won't  know — nor  Home,  nor  Gates, 
nor  Jimmy  Kanaka,  neither.  [As  if  in  self-justifi 
cation.]  Why  should  I  tell  'em,  eh?  Did  I  ever  get 
anything  better  than  a  kick  or  a  curse  from  one  of 
them?  [Vindictively]  Would  they  give  it  to  me  if 
they  had  it?  They'd  see  me  in  hell  first!  And  be 
sides,  it's  too  late  for  them.  They're  mad  as  hatters 
right  now,  the  four  of  them.  They  ain't  had  a  drop 


6  GOLD 

since  three  nights  back,  when  the  water  in  the  cask 
gave  out  and  we  rowed  up  against  this  island  in  the 
dark.  Think  of  it,  and  them  out  walking  and  roast 
ing  in  the  sun  all  day,  looking  for  water  where  there 
ain't  any.  Wouldn't  you  be  crazy?  [Suddenly  he 
laughs  queerly.~]  Didn't  you  hear  them  shouting 
and  yelling  like  lunatics  just  before  I  came? 

ABEL — I  thought  I  heard  something — on'y  maybe 
I  was  dreamin*. 

BUTLER — It's  them  that  are  doing  the  dreaming. 
I  was  with  them.  I  had  to  go.  [With  rising  anger.] 
He  kicked  me  awake — and  every  time  I  tried  to  get 
away  he  beat  me  back.  He's  strong  yet —  [With 
threatening  mndictiveness.]  — but  he  can't  last 
long,  damn  him!  [Controlling  himself,  goes  on  with 
his  story  excitedly.]  Well,  we  went  looking  for 
water — on  this  sand  pile.  Then  Jimmy  Kanaka  saw 
a  boat  sunk  half  under  down  inside  the  reef — a  Ma 
lay  canoe,  only  bigger.  They  got  down  in  her  the  best 
way  they  could,  up  to  their  waists  in  water.  They 
thought  there  might  be  something  to  drink  on  her. 
I  was  trying  to  sneak  off,  scared  to  go  in  on  account 
of  sharks.  All  of  a  sudden  they  gave  an  awful  yell. 
I  thought  they'd  found  something  to  drink  and  ran 
back.  They  was  all  standing  about  a  box  they'd 
forced  open,  yelling  and  cursing  and  out  of  their 
heads  completely.  When  I  looked  I  seen  the  box 
was  full  of  all  sorts  of  metal  junk — bracelets  and 
bands  and  necklaces  that  I  guess  the  Malays  wear. 


GOLD  7 

Nothing  but  brass  and  copper,  and  bum  imitations 
of  diamonds  and  things — not  worth  a  dam;  and 
there  they  were,  shouting  with  joy  and  slapping  each 
other  on  the  back.  And  that  hellion  of  a  skipper 
shouts  at  me :  "Get  out  of  this !  No  share  here  for 
a  stinking  cook !"  he  yells.  I  didn't  say  nothing  but 
just  picked  up  some  of  the  stuff  to  make  sure.  Then 
I  told  him  straight.  "This  ain't  gold.  It's  brass 
and  copper — not  worth  a  damn."  God,  he  got  wild ! 
I  had  to  run,  or  he'd  knifed  me — then  and  there. 
That  was  when  I  woke  you  up. 

ABEL, — And  ain't  it  worth  nothin',  honest? 
How'd  you  know  it  ain't  ? 

BUTLER — D'you  think  I  ain't  learned  to  know 
gold  in  my  time?  And  polished  enough  copper  and 
brass  to  know  them,  too?  Just  as  if  it  was  gold 
it'd  do  'em  any  good!  You  can't  drink  gold,  can 
you?  [With  sudden  violence.]  It  serves  'em  right, 
all  that's  happened  and  going  to  happen.  Kicks  and 
smacks  in  the  face  if  I  even  winked  an  eye — two 
years  of  it !  And  me  shanghied  when  I  was  drunk — 
taken  away  from  a  good  job  and  forced  to  cook  the 
swill  on  a  rotten  whaler.  Oh,  I'll  pay  him  back  for 
it!  His  damn  ship  is  wrecked  and  lost  to  him — 
that's  the  first  of  it.  I'll  see  him  rot  and  die — and 
the  three  with  him !  But  you  and  me'll  be  saved ! 
D'you  know  why  I've  let  you  go  halves  on  this 
water,  instead  of  hogging  it  all  myself?  It's  be 
cause  you  were  the  only  one  on  board  that  didn't 


8  GOLD 

treat  me  like  a  dog — and  they  kicked  and  beat  you, 
too.  We  were  in  the  same  boat.  And  now  we'll  get 
even !  Them  and  their  dirty  box  of  junk !  [He 
sinks  back,  exhausted  by  this  outburst. ~\ 

ABEL — [Suddenly,  in  a  piteous  voice.']  Gee,  I 
wisht  I  was  back  home  again ! 

BUTLER— You'll  get  back.  We  both  will.  [He 
closes  his  eyes.  After  a  pause — weakly]  When  I 
close  my  eyes,  everything  gets  to  rocking  under  me, 
like  I  was  in  that  open  boat  again.  I  won't  forget 

these  four  days  in   a  hurry.     Up   and  down 

Nothing  but  sun  and  water.  [They  are  both  silent, 
leaning  with  closed  eyes  against  the  bole  of  the  tree, 
panting  exhaust edly.  A  murmur  of  men's  voices 
comes  from  the  right,  rear,  and  gradually  get 
nearer. ~\ 

ABEL — [Opening  his  eyes  with  a  start.]  Butts! 
I  hear  'em  comin' ! 

BUTLER — [Listening,  wide-eyed,  -for  a  moment.'] 
Yes,  it's  them.  [He  gets  to  his  feet  weakly.]  Come, 
let's  get  out  of  this.  [ABEL  staggers  to  his  feet. 
They  both  move  to  the  left.  BUTLER  shades  his  eyes 
with  his  hands  and  looks  toward  the  beach] 
Look!  They're  dragging  along  that  box  of  junk 
with  'em,  the  damn  fools!  [Warningly]  They're 
crazy  as  hell.  Don't  give  'em  no  chance  to  pick  on 
you,  d'you  hear?  They'd  stop  at  nothing  when 
they're  this  way.  [There  is  a  scuffling  of  heavy  foot 
steps  in  the  sand,  and  CAPTAIN  BARTLETT  appears, 


GOLD  9 

followed  by  HORNE,  who  in  turn  is  followed  by  GATES 
and  JIMMY  KANAKA.  BARTLETT  is  a  tall,  'huge- 
framed  figure  of  a  man,  dressed*  in  a  blue  double- 
breasted  coat,  pants  of  the  same  material,  and 
rubber  sea-boots  turned  dow-n  from  the  knees.  In 
spite  of  the  ravages  of  hunger  and  thirst  there  is 
still  a  suggestion  of  immense  strength  in  his  heavy-r 
muscled  body.  His  head  is  massive,  thickly  covered 
with  tangled,  iron-grey  hair.  His  face  is  large, 
bony,  and  leather-tanned,  with  a  long  aquiline  nose 
and  a  gash  of  a  mouth  shadowed  by  a  bristling  grey 
mustache.  His  broad  jaw  sticks  out  at  an  angle  of 
implacable  stubbornness.  Bushy  grey  brows  over 
hang  the  obsessed  glare  of  his  sombre  dark  eyes. 
SILAS  HORNE  is  a  thin,  parrot-nosed,  angular  old 
man,  his  lean  face  marked  by  a  life-time  of  crass 
lusts  and  mean  cruelty.  He  is  dressed  in  grey  cotton 
trousers,  and  a  singlet  torn  open  across  his  hairy 
cJiest.  The  exposed  skin  of  his  arms  and  shoulders 
and  chest  has  been  blistered  and  seared  by  the  sun. 
A  cap  is  on  his  head.  GATES  is  squat  and  broad- 
chested,  with  thick,  stumpy  legs  and  arms.  His 
square.,  stupid  face,  with  its  greedy  pig's  eyes,  is 
terribly  pock-marked.  He  is  gross  and  bestial,  an 
unintelligent  brute.  He  is  dressed  in  dungaree  pants 
and  a  dirty  white  sailor's  blouse,  and  wears  a  brown 
cap.  JIMMY  KANAKA  is  a  tall,  sinewy,  bronzed 
young  Islander.  He  wears  only  a  loin  cloth  and  a 
leather  belt  with  a  sheath-knife.  The  last  two  are 


10  GOLD 

staggering  beneath  the  weight  of  a  heavy  Maid 
chest.  The  eyes  of  the  three  white  men  are  wild. 
They  pant  exhaustedly,  their  legs  tremblmg  with 
weakness  beneath  them.  Their  lips  are  puffed  and 
cracked,  their  voices  muffled  by  tjieir  swollen 
tongues.  But  there  is  a  mad  air  of  happiness,  of 
excitement,  about  their  scorched  faces.] 

BARTLETT — [In  a  crooning,  monotonous  voice.'] 
It's  heavy,  I  know,  heavy — that  chest.  Up,  bullies ! 
Up  with  her!  [He  flings  himself  in  the  shade,  rest 
ing  his  back  agamst  the  tree,  and  points  to  the  sand 
at  his  feet.]  Put  'er  there,  bullies — there  where  I 
kin  see! 

HORNE — [Echoing  his  words  mechanically]  Put'er 
there ! 

GATES — [In  thick,  stupid  tones.]  Aye-aye,  sir! 
Down  she  goes,  Jimmy!  [They  set  the  chest  down.] 

BARTLETT — Sit  down,  lads,  sit  down.  Ye've 
earned  your  spell  of  rest.  [The  three  men  throw 
themselves  on  the  sand  in  attitudes  of  spent  weari 
ness.  Bartlett's  eyes  are  fixed  gloatingly  on  the 
chest.  There  is  a  silence  suddenly  broken  by  Cates, 
who  leaps  to  a  kneeling  position  with  a  choked  cry.] 

GATES — [His  eyes  staring  at  the  Captain  with 
fierce  msistence.]  I  want  a  drink — water!  [The 
others  are  startled  into  a  rigid,  dazzed  attention, 
HORNE'S  lips  move  painfully  in  a  soundless  repeti 
tion  of  the  word.  There  is  a  pause.  Then  Bartlett 
strikes  the  side  of  his  head  with  his  fist,  as  if  to  drive 


GOLD  11 

this  obsession  from  his  brain.  BUTLER  and  ABEL 
stand  looking  at  them  with  frightened  eyes.] 

BARTLETT — [Having  regamed  control  over  him 
self,  in  a  determined  voice,  deep-toned  and  menac- 
mg.]  If  ye  speak  that  word  ever  again,  Ben  Gates 
— if  ye  say  it  once  again — ye'll  be  food  for  the 
sharks!  Ye  hear? 

GATES — [Terrified.]  Yes,  sir.  [He  collapses 
limply  on  the  sand  again.  HORNE  and  the  KANAKA 
relax  hopelessly.] 

BARTLETT — [With  heavy  scorn.]  Are  ye  a  child 
to  take  on  like  a  sick  woman — cryin*  for  what  ye 
know  we've  not  got?  Can't  ye  stand  up  under  a 
little  thirst  like  a  man?  [Resolutely.]  There'll  be 
water  enough — if  ye'll  wait  and  keep  a  stiff  upper 
lip  on  ye.  We'll  all  be  picked  up  today.  I'll  stake 
my  word  on  it.  This  state  o'  things  can't  last. 
[His  eyes  fall  on  the  chest.]  Ye  ought  to  be  singin' 
'stead  o'  cryin' — after  the  find  we've  made.  What's 
the  lack  of  water  amount  to — when  ye've  gold  before 
you?  [With  mad  exultation.]  Gold!  Enough  of 
it  in  your  share  alone  to  buy  ye  rum,  and  wine,  and 
women,  too,  for  the  rest  o'  your  life ! 

GATES — [Straightening  up  to  a  sitting  posture — 
his  small  eyes  staring  at  the  box  fascmatedly — in  a 
stupid  mumble.]  Aye — aye — rum  and  wine ! 

BARTLETT — [Half  closing  his  eyes  as  if  the  better 
to  enjoy  his  vision.]  Yes,  rum  and  wine  and  women 
for  you  and  Home  and  Jimmy.  No  more  hard  work 


12  GOLD 

on  the  dirty  sea  for  ye,  bullies,  but  a  full  pay-day  in 
your  pockets  to  spend  each  day  o'  the  year.  [The 
three  strain  their  ears,  listening  eagerly.  Even  BUT 
LER  and  ABEL  advance  a  step  or  two  toward  him,  as 
if  they,  too,  were  half  hypnotized.']  And  Gates 
grumbling  because  he's  thirsty!  I'd  be  the  proper 
one  to  complain — if  complainin'  there  was  to  do ! 
Ain't  I  lost  my  ship  and  the  work  o'  two  years  with 
her?  And  what  have  ye  lost,  all  three,  but  a  few 
rags  o'  clothes?  [With  savage  emphasis.]  I  tell 
ye,  I  be  glad  the  Triton  went  down!  [He  taps  the 
box  with  his  •fingers.']  They's  more  in  this  than  ever 
was  earned  by  all  the  whalin'  ships  afloat.  They's 
gold — heavy  and  solid — and  diamonds  and  emeralds 
and  rubies ! — red  and  green,  they  be. 

GATES — [Licking  his  lips.']  Aye,  I  seen  'em  there 
— and  emeralds  be  green,  I  know,  and  sell  for  a  ton 
of  gold ! 

BARTLETT — [As  if  he  hadn9t  heard  and  was 
dreaming  out  loud  to  himself.']  Rum  and  wine  for 
you  three,  and  rest  for  me.  Aye,  I'll  rest  to  home 
'til  the  day  I  die.  Aye,  woman,  I  be  comin'  home 
now  for  good.  Aye,  Nat  and  Sue,  your  father  be 
comin'  home  for  the  rest  o'  his  life !  No  more  stinkin* 
blubber  on  the  deck.  I'll  give  up  whalin'  like  ye've 
always  been  askin'  me,  Sarah.  Aye,  I'll  go  to  meetin' 
with  ye  on  a  Sunday  like  ye've  always  prayed  I 
would.  We'll  make  the  damn  neighbors  open  their 
eyes,  curse  'em!  Carriages  and  silks  for  ye — they'll 


GOLD  13 

be  nothin'  too  good — and  for  Sue  and  the  boy.  Fve 
been  dreamin'  o'  this  in  my  sleep  for  years.  I  never 
give  a  damn  'bout  the  oil — that's  just  trade — but  I 
always  hoped  on  some  voyage  I'd  pick  up  ambergris 
— a  whole  lot  of  it — and  that's  worth  gold! 

HORNE — [His  head  bobbing  up  from  his  chest — 
drowsily.]  Aye,  ambergris !  It's  costly  truck. 

BUTLER — [In  a  whisper  to  tlie  boy — cautiously. 
There!  Wasn't  I  right?  Mad  as  hatters,  all  of 
'em!  Come  on  away! 

ABEL — [Staring  at  the  Captain  fascinatedly.] 
No.  I  wanter  see  'em  open  it. 

BUTLER — Look  out !  You'll  be  going  batty  your 
self,  first  thing  you  know.  [But  he  also  stays."] 

BARTLETT — [His  voice  more  and  more  that  of  a 
somnambulist .]  It's  time  I  settled  down  to  home 
with  ye,  Sarah,  after  twenty  years  o'  whalin'.  They's 
plenty  o'  big  trees  on  my  place,  bullies,  and  shade 
and  green  grass,  and  a  cool  wind  off  the  sea.  [He 
shakes  off  the  growing  drowsiness  and  glares  about 
him  in  a  rage.]  Hell's  fire!  What  crazy  truck  be 
I  thinkin'  of?  [But  he  and  the  others  sink  back  im 
mediately  into  stupor.  After  a  pause  he  begins  to 
relate  a  tale  in  a  droning  voice.]  Years  ago,  when 
I  was  whalin'  out  o'  New  Bedford — just  after  I  got 
my  £rst  ship,  it  was — a  man  come  to  me — Spanish- 
looking,  he  was — and  wanted  to  charter  my  ship  and 
me  go  shares.  He  showed  me  a  map  o'  some  island  off 
the  coast  of  South  America  somewhere.  They  was 


14  GOLD 

a  cross  marked  on  it  where  treasure  had  been  buried 
by  the  old  pirates.  That  was  what  he  said.  But  I 
was  a  fool.  I  didn't  believe  him.  I  didn't  see's  I 
could  take  a  chance.  He  got  old  Scott's  schooner 
— finally.  She  sailed  and  never  was  heard  o'  since. 
But  I've  never  forgot  him  and  his  map.  And  often 

I've  thought  if  I'd  'a'  went  that  vige 

[He  straightens  up  and  shouts  with  aggressive  vio 
lence.]  But  here  she  be!  Run  right  into  it — with 
out  no  map  nor  nothin'.  Gold  and  diamonds  and 
all — all  them  things  he  said  was  there — there  they  be 
in  front  o'  our  eyes!  [To  the  now  alert  JIMMY.] 
Open  'er  up,  Jimmy! 

JIMMY — [Getting  up — m  his  soft  voice. ~\  Aye, 
Captain.  [He  reaches  down  to  lift  the  lid.~\ 

BARTLETT — [A  sudden  change  of  feeling  comes 
over  him,  and  he  knocks  JIMMY'S  arm  aside  sav 
agely.]  Hands  off,  ye  dog!  I'm  takin'  care  o'  this 
chest,  and  no  man's  hand's  goin'  to  touch  it  but 
mine! 

JIMMY — [Stepping  back  docilely — in  the  same  un 
moved,  soft  tone.]  Aye,  Captain.  [He  squats  down 
to  the  left  of  the  chest.] 

BARTLETT — [Seeming  suddenly  to  notice  the  cook 
for  the  first  time.]  So  there  you  be,  eh?  [His  voice 
growing  thick  with  rage.]  I  ain't  forgot  what  ye 
said  down  by  the  shore  there !  Lucky  for  ye  I  didn't 
catch  ye  then !  "Brass  and  copper — junk,"  ye  said 
— "not  gold!  Not  worth  a  damn,"  ye  said!  Ye 


GOLD  15 

blasted  son  o'  a  liar!  No  share  for  ye!  I'll  not 
forget.  And  keep  your  distance  o'  me  if  ye  want 
your  hide!  [Looking  at  ABEL.]  Ye've  been  tellin' 
that  boy  your  lies  too,  I  kin  tell  by  the  look  o'  him. 
[Sternly.]  Come  here,  boy ! 

ABEL — [Advances  with  faltering  steps.]  Y-yes, 
s-sir? 

BARTLETT — Open  up  that  chest!  Open  it  up,  ye 
brat!  [With  a  desperate  movement  of  fear  ABEL 
reaches  down  and  flings  open  the  lid  of  the  chest. 
As  he  does  so,  BARTLETT'S  huge  hand  fastens  on  the 
collar  of  his  coat,  and  holds  him  with  face  bent  over 
the  boa:.  HORNE,  GATES,  and  JIMMY  KANAKA  pull 
themselves  close,  their  necks  craning  for  a  look  in 
side.  BUTLER  takes  a  few  steps  toward  them.] 

BUTLER — [In  a  low  uncertain  tone.]  Maybe  I 
was  wrong,  Captain  Bartlett,  sir. 

BARTLETT — [Shaking  the  terror-stricken  boy.] 
What  d'ye  see  there,  ye  little  swab?  What  d'ye  see 
there  ? 

ABEL — Aw — leggo — I'm  chokin* ! 

BARTLETT — [Grimly.]  Ye '11  choke  in  earnest  if 
ye  don't  answer  me.  What  d'ye  see?  Is  it  gold? 
Answer  me — is  it  gold? 

ABEL — [Stutteringly.]  Yes — sure — gold — I  see 
it! 

BARTLETT — [Thrusts  him  away.  The  boy  stag 
gers  and  falls  to  the  sand.  BARTLETT  turns  to  BUT- 
LER  triumphantly.]  Ye  see,  ye  liar?  Gold!  Gold.1 


16  GOLD 

Even  a  child  can  tell  it  at  a  look.  [With  a  sombre 
menace  in  his  tone.]  But  ye — don't  believe — do  ye? 

BUTLER — [F 'right enedly.]  Maybe  I  was  wrong, 
sir.  I — didn't — look  very  careful. 

BARTLETT — Come  here !  [He  stands  up,  his  back 
against  the  tree.]  Come  here ! 

BUTLER — Yes,  sir.  [But  he  looks  about  him 
shiftily,  as  if  to  run  away.] 

BARTLETT — Jimmy!  [The  KANAKA  leaps  to  his 
feet.]  Knife  him,  Jimmy,  if  he  tries  to  run. 

JIMMY — [His  hand  goes  to  his  knife,  his  dark 
eyes  lighting  up  with  savagery — in  his  soft  voice.] 
Aye,  Captain! 

BARTLETT — [To  the  trembling  cook.]  Come 
here! 

BUTLER — [Goes  to  him  with  the  courage  of  des 
peration.]  Yes,  sir. 

BARTLETT — [Pointing  to  the  contents  of  the 
chest. ]  Is  it  gold — or  not? 

BUTLER — If  I  can  feel  of  one 

BARTLETT — Pick  one  up. 

BUTLER — [Picks  up  a  heavy  anklet  encrusted 
with  colored  glass,  looks  at  it  for  a  minute — then 
feigning  great  assurance."]  I  was  wrong,  Captain. 
It's  gold  all  right  enough — worth  all  kinds  of  money, 
I  bet. 

BARTLETT — [With  mad  triumph."]  Ha!  Ye've 
come  to  your  senses,  have  ye?  Too  late,  ye  swab! 
No  share  for  ye!  And  here's  to  teach  ye  for  lyin' 


GOLD  17 

to  me  before !  [His  fist  jerks  out  from  his  side,  and 
BUTLER  is  knocked  sprawling  on  the  sand,  where  he 
lies  groaning  for  a  moment,  the  anklet  still  clutched 
in  his  hand.  The  boy  gives  a  gasp  of  fright  and 
scampers  off,  left.~\ 

BARTLETT — That'll  learn  ye!  [He  sits  down  be 
side  the  chest.  The  others  crouch  close.  Bartlett 
shoves  in  both  of  his  hands — in  a  tone  of  mad  gloat 
ing.']  Gold!  Better'n  whaling,  ain't  she,  boys? 
Better'n  ambergris,  .even  if  I  ever  had  luck  to  find 
any!  [BUTLER  staggers  to  his  feet.  He  examines 
the  anklet  with  contemptuous  scorn  and  even  bites 
it  to  make  sure.  Then  lie  edges  stealthily  toward  tlie 
left.  A  sudden  transformation  comes  over  his  face 
and  he  glowers  at  the  Captain  with  hatred,  his  fea 
tures  distorted  with  furyJ] 

JIMMY  KANAKA — {Pointing  to  BUTLER.]  He  got 
him,  Captain! 

BARTLETT — [Glancing  at  the  cook  with  contemp 
tuous  scornJ]  Sneakin'  away  with  that  piece  o'  the 
gold,  be  ye?  Ye  thievin'  swine!  Ye  know  right 
enough  it's  gold  now,  don't  ye?  Well,  ye  kin  keep 
it — for  your  share  for  speakin'  the  truth  that  once. 

HORNE — [His  cupidity  protesting.]  Don't  give  it 
to  him,  sir!  It's  so  much  the  less  for  us  that  worked 
for  it  when  he  did  nothin* ! 

BUTLER — [Overcome  by  hysterical  rage — stam 
mering.']  Who  asked  you  for  it — eh?  Who — wants 
the  dam  thing?  Not  me!  No!  You  damned  luna- 


18  GOLD 

tics !  You  oughter  all  be  in  the  asylum  ?  [Holdmg 
the  anklet  out  contemptuously.]  Gold?  Ha-ha! 
This  junk?  I  just  bit  it  to  make  sure.  Gold? 
Brass,  that's  what — and  pieces  of  glass!  Junk! 
Not  worth  a  dam.  Here !  Take  it !  You  can  have 
it!  [He  -flings  it  on  the  sand  before  them.  BART- 
LETT  snatches  it  up  protectingly.] 

BARTLETT — [In  a  frenzy.']  Jimmy!  [But  BUT 
LER  runs  off  left  with  a  terrified  cry.  JIMMY  springs 
to  his  feet  and  stands  with  his  hand  on  his  knife, 
waiting  for  a  further  order. ] 

JIMMY — [Eagerly.']  I  go  catch — go  stick  him, 
Captain  ? 

BARTLETT — [Pausing  —  with  a  frown.~\  No. 
They's  time  enough  for  that — if  need  be.  Sit  down. 
[JIMMY  sits  down  again  with  a  childish  air  of  sulk 
ing*  BARTLETT  stares  at  the  treasure,  continuing 
to  frown,  as  if  Butler9 s  action  had  made  him  un 
easy,  bewildered  and  confused  him.  He  mutters  half 
to  himself. ]  Queer!  Queer!  He  threw  it  back  as  if 
'twas  a  chunk  of  mud !  He  knew — and  yet  he  said 
he  didn't  want  it.  Junk,  he  called  it — and  he  knows 
it's  gold !  He  said  'twas  gold  himself  a  second  back. 
He's  queer.  Why  would  he  say  junk  when  he  knows 
it's  gold?  D'ye  think— he  don't  believe? 

HORNE — He  was  mad  because  you  knocked  him 
down. 

BARTLETT — [Shaking  his  head  grimly."]  It  ain't 
the  first  time  I've  knocked  him  down ;  but  he  never 


GOLD  19 

spoke  up  to  me — like  that — before.  No,  it's  some- 
thin'  else  is  wrong  with  him — somethin*. 

HORNE — No  share  for  him,  you  told  him  sir. 
That's  what  wrong  with  him. 

BARTLETT — [Again  shaking  his  head.]  No.  His 
eyes —  It's  somethin'  he's  got  in  his  head — somethin' 
he's  hidin'!  His  share — maybe  he  thinks  he'll  get 
his  share  anyway,  in  spite  o'  us!  Maybe  he  thinks 
his  share  wouldn't  be  all  he  wants  !  Maybe  he  thinks 
we'll  die  o'  hunger  and  thirst  before  we  get  picked 
up — and  that  he'll  live — and  then — he'll  come  in 
for  the  whole  chestful !  [Suddenly  springing  to  his 
feet  in  a  rage,  convinced  that  he  has  found  the 
truth.]  Hell's  fire!  That's  it,  bullies !  That's  his 
sneakin'  plan !  To  watch  us  die — and  steal  it  from 
us! 

GATES — [Rising  to  his  knees  and  shaking  his  hand 
threateningly  above  his  head.]  Tell  Jimmy  to  knife 
him,  sir!  Tell  Jimmy — I  ain't  got  a  knife,  or  I'd 
do  it  myself.  [He  totters  weakly  to  his  feet.] 

JIMMY — [Eagerly.]  You  speak,  I  stick  him, 
'Captain.  I  stick  boy,  too. 

GATES — [Weakening.]  I'm  weak,  but  I  kin  do  for 

him  yet.  I'm  weak [His  knees  sag  under  him. 

He  pleads  piteously.]  If  I'd  only  a  drink  to  put 
some  strength  in  me!  If  I'd  only  a  sup  o'  water, 
I'd  do  for  him!  [Turning,  as  if  to  stagger  down 
toward  the  beach.]  There  must  be  water.  Let's 
look  again.  I'll  go  look [But  the  effort  he 


20  GOLD 

makes  is  too  much  for  his  strength  and  he  falls  to 
the  sand,  panting  with  open  mouth.] 

BARTLETT — [Summoning  his  strength — sternly.'} 
Put  a  clapper  on  that  jaw  of  yours,  Gates,  or  I'll 
do  it  for  ye ! 

GATES — [Blubbering.]  If  we  don't  find  water — 
he'll  watch  us  die. 

JIMMY — [Insinuatingly.]  Better  me  knife  cook 
fella— kill  boy,  too ! 

BARTLETT — Will  killin'  'em  give  us  drink,  ye 
fools?  [After  a  pause,  he  shakes  his  head  as  if  to 
drive  off  some  thought,  and  mutters.]  No  more  o' 
that!  [Suddenly,  in  a  tone  of  sharp  command.] 
No  more  o'  that,  I  say!  We're  keepin'  no  right 
watch  for  ships.  Go  aloft  on  that  tree,  Jimmy — 
and  damn  quick!  Take  a  look  and  see  if  ye  can 
sight  a  sail.  [KANAKA  shins  quickly  up  the 
bole  of  the  coco  palm  to  the  top  and  looks  out  on  all 
sides  of  him.  The  others  rise  painfully  to  their 
feet  and  gaze  up  at  him  with  awakened  hope.] 

JIMMY — [Suddenly,  m  a  glad  voice]  I  see  um — 
see  sail,  Captain. 

GATES — [Waving  his  arms  frenziedly]  Sail — 
ho! 

JIMMY — Look  plenty  like  trade  schooner,  Cap 
tain.  She  no  change  course  she  fetch  plenty  close 
by  here.  She  make  full  sail,  she  got  plenty  fella 
wind  out  there,  she  come  quick. 


GOLD  21 

HORNE — [Clapping  GATES  on  the  back.']  Headin' 
straight  for  us,  Gates,  d'you  hear? 

B ARTLETT — How  far  d'ye  reckon  she  be? 

JIMMY — She's  five,  six  fella  mile,  Captain. 

BARTLETT — Comje  down.  [The  Islander  slides 
down.  BARTLETT  exclaims  exultantly.]  Didn't  I 
tell  ye?  In  the  nick  b'  time.  When  she  makes  in 
close  we'll  go  down  to  the  reef  and  yell  and  wave  at 
her.  They'll  see !  The  luck's  with  us  today  !  [His 
eyes  fall  on  the  treasure  and  he  starts.]  But  now — 
what's  to  do  with  this  chest — the  gold? 

HORNE — [Quickly.]  You  ain't  going  to  tell  them 
on  the  schooner  about  it  ? 

GATES — They'd  claim  to  share  with  us. 

HORNE — More  like  they'd  steal  it  and  knife  us  in 
the  bargain.  I  know  the  kind  on  them  schooners. 

BARTLETT — [Scornfully.]  D'ye  think  I'm  cracked? 
No,  we'll  bury  it  here. 

GATES — [Regretfully.]  Leave  it  behind  for  any 
one  to  find? 

BARTLETT — We'll  bury  it  deep,  where  hell  itself 
won't  find  it — and  we'll  make  a  map  o'  this  island. 
[He  takes  a  sheet  of  paper  and  a  stub  of  pencil  from 
his  pocket — pointing  to  the  foot  of  the  tree.]  Dig 
a  hole  here — you,  Home  and  Jimmy — and  dig  it 
deep.  [The  two  bend  down  and  commence  to  hollow 
out  the  sand  with  their  hands.  BARTLETT  draws  on 
the  paper.]  There's  the  lagoon — and  the  reef — 
and  here's  this  tree — the  only  one  on  the  island — 


22  GOLD 

't  would  be  hard  to  miss.  [To  GATES,  who  is  peering 
over  his  shoulder.'}  And  here  where  the  tree  is,  d'ye 
see,  Gates,  I'll  make  a  cross  where  the  gold  is  hid. 

HORNE — [Over  his  shoulder,  without  ceasing  his 
work.]  How  d'ye  know  the  lay  o'  this  island — to 
find  it  again? 

BARTLETT — By  the  last  reckonin'  o'  the  Triton's. 
It's  writ  on  a  page  I  tore  from  the  log-book.  And 
from  there  we  headed  due  north  in  the  boat,  unless 
the  compass  lied — four  days — a  hundred  and  fifty 
miles,  I  reckon.  [Exultantly.]  Oh,  all  hell'd  not 
stop  me  from  findin'  this  place  again  when  I  know 
the  gold's  here.  Let  us  once  get  home  and  I'll  fit 
out  a  small  schooner  the  four  of  us  can  sail,  and 
we'll  come  back  here  to  dig  it  up.  It  won't  be  long, 
I  swear  to  ye! 

HORNE — [Straightening  up.~\  This  deep  enough, 
sir? 

BARTLETT — It  looks  to  be. 

JIMMY — [Who  has  straightened  up  and  is  looking 
off  left — suddenly  points  excitedly. ,]  He  look,  Cap 
tain  !  Cook  fella,  he  look  here !  Boy  he  look,  too ! 
They  look  plenty  too  much,  Captain!  [All  jour 
stand  staring  off  at  BUTLER  and  the  boy,  whose 
presence  on  the  island  they  have  forgotten  m  their 
mad  excitement.'] 

GATES — [In  stupid  dismay."]  They'll  know  where 
it's  hid,  sir! 

HORNE — They'll  tell  *em  on  the  schooner! 


GOLD  23 

GATES — [Wildly.]  We've  got  to  do  for  'em,  Cap 
tain!  Gimme  your  knife,  Jimmy — your  knife 

[He  stumbles  toward  the  Islander,  who  pushes  him 
aside  brusquely,  looking  questionmgly  toward  the 
Captain.] 

BARTLETT — [Who  has  been  standing  motionless, 
as  if  stunned  by  this  forgotten  complication — 
slowly]  There  they  be  watchin'  us,  the  sneakin' 
dogs!  Sit  down,  an'  they  won't  see.  [They  all 
squat  in  the  sand]  I  was  forgettin'  they  was  here. 
[Striking  his  knee  with  clenched  fist.]  We've  got  to 
do  somethin'  damn  quick!  That  schooner'll  be  up 
soon  where  they  kin  sight  her — and  they'll  wave  and 
yell  then — and  she'll  see  'em! 

HORNE — And  good-bye  to  the  gold  for  us ! 
JIMMY — [Eagerly.]     You   say  fella  word,  Cap 
tain,  me  kill  um  quick.     They  no  make  plenty  cry 
for   schooner!     They  keep   damn   still   plenty   too 
much! 

BARTLETT — [Looking  at  the  Islander  with  mad 
cunning  but  replying  only  to  HORNE.]  Aye,  it's 
good-bye  to  the  gold,  Home.  That  scum  of  a  cook 
— he's  made  a  mock  o'  us — sayin'  it  wasn't  gold 
when  he  knew  it  was — he'll  tell  'em — he'll  get  joy 
o'  tellin'  'em ! 

HORNE — And  that  scrub  of  a  boy — he's  no  better. 
He'll  be  in  with  him  neck  and  crop. 

GATES — [Hoarsely.]  Knife  'em — and  be  done 
with  it — I  say ! 


24  GOLD 

BARTLETT — Or,  if  they  don't  tell  the  schooner's 
skipper  it'll  only  be  because  they're  plannin'  to  come 
back  themselves — before  wie  kin — and  dig  it  up. 
That  cook — there's  somethin'  queer  in  his  mind — 
somethin'  he  was  hidin' — pretendin'  not  to  believe. 
What  d'ye  think,  Home? 

HORNE — I  think — time's  gettin'  short — and  talk- 
in'  won't  do  no  good.  [Insinuatingly.]  They'd  do 
for  us  soon  enough  if  they  was  able. 

BARTLETT — Aye,  murder  was  plain  in  his  eyes 
when  he  looked  at  me. 

HORNE — [Lowering  his  voice  to  a  whisper.]  Tell 
Jimmy — Captain  Bartlett — is  what  I  say! 

BARTLETT — It's  agin  the  law,  Silas  Home! 

HORNE — The  law  don't  reach  to  this  island. 

BARTLETT — [Monotonously.]  It's  against  the 
law  a  captain's  sworn  to  keep  wherever  he  sails.  They 
ain't  refused  duty — nor  mutinied. 

HORNE — Who'll  know  they  ain't?  They're  try 
ing  to  steal  what's  yours — that's  worse'n  mutiny. 
[As  a  final  persuasion.]  And  Jimmy's  a  nigger — 
and  under  no  laws.  And  he's  stronger'n  you  are. 
You  couldn't  stop  'im. 

BARTLETT — Aye — I  couldn't  prevent 

JIMMY — [Eagerly.]  I  fix  urn,  Captain,  they  no 
tell!  [BARTLETT  doesn't  answer,  but  stares  at  the 
treasure.  HORNE  makes  violent  motions  to  JIMMY 
to  go.  The  Islander  stares  at  his  master's  face. 
Then,  seeming  to  read  the  direct  command  there,  he 


GOLD  25 

grunts  with  satisfaction,  and  pulling  his  knife  from 
it's  sheath,  he  goes  stealthily  off  left.  GATES  raises 
himself  on  his  haunches  to  watch  the  Islander's  move 
ments.  HORNE  and  BARTLETT  sit  still  in  a  strained 
immobility,  their  eyes  on  the  chest.'] 

GATES — [In  an  excited  whisper. "\  I  see  'em! 
They're  sittin'  with  their  backs  this  way !  [A  slight 
pause.]  There's  Jimmy.  He's  crawlin'  on  his 
hands  behind  'em.  They  don't  notice — he's  right 
behind — almost  atop  o'  them.  [A  pause.  GATES 
gives  a  fiendish  grunt.]  Ugh!  [BUTLER'S  muffled 
cry  comes  from  the  left.~\  Right  in  the  middle  of 
the  back !  The  cook's  done !  The  boy's  runnin' ! 
[There  is  a  succession  of  quick  screams  from  the 
boy,  the  padding  of  feet  running  toward  them,  the 
fall  of  a  body,  and  the  boy's  dymg  groan.] 

HORNE — [With  satisfaction.]     It's  done,  sir! 

BARTLETT — [Slowly.]  I  spoke  no  word,  remem 
ber  that,  Silas  Home ! 

HORNE — [Cunningly.]  Nor  me  neither,  sir. 
Jimmy  took  it  on  himself.  If  blame  there  is — and 
who'd  blame  him  for  it? — it's  on  him. 

BARTLETT — [Gloomily.]  I  spoke  no  word! 
[JIMMY  returns  noiselessly  from  the  left.] 

JIMMY — [Grinning  with  savage  pride.]  I  fix  um 
fella  plenty,  Captain.  They  no  tell.  They  no  open 
mouth  plenty  too  much! 

GATES — [MaudlMy.]     You're  a  man,  Jimmy — 


26  GOLD 

a  man  with  guts  to  him — even  if  you're  a [He 

babbles  incoherently.] 

JIMMY — [As  the  Captain  does  not  look  at  Mm.] 
I  go  climb  fella  tree,  Captain?  I  make  look  for 
schooner? 

BARTLETT — [Rousing  himself  with  an  effort.] 
Yes — go  up.  [The  Islander  climbs  the  tree.] 

HORNE — [Getting  to  his  feet — eagerly]  Where 
away,  Jimmy? 

JIMMY — She  come,  Captain,  she  come  plenty 
quick. 

HORNE — [Looking  in  the  direction  JIMMY  indi 
cates]  I  kin  see  her  tops'ls  from  here,  sir.  Look! 

BARTLETT — [Getting  to  his  feet — stares  out  to 
sea]  Aye!  There  she  be — and  makin'  towards  us 
fast.  [In  a  -flash  his  sombre  preoccupation  is  gone, 
and  he  is  commander  once  more.  He  puts  the  anklet 
m  his  hand  into  his  coat  pocket — harshly]  Come 
down  out  o*  that?  They's  work  to  do.  [JIMMY 
clambers  down]  Did  ye  leave — them — lyin*  in  plain 
sight  on  the  open  sand? 

JIMMY — Yes.     I  no  touch  um,  Captain. 

B ART-LETT — Then  ye'll  touch  'em  now.  Go,  bury 
*em,  cover  'em  up  with  sand.  And  mind  ye  make  a 
good  job  o'  it  that  none'll  see.  Jump  now! 

JIMMY — [Obediently.]  I  go,  Captain.  [He  hur 
ries  off  left.] 

BARTLETT — Down  to  the  reef  with  ye,  Horne! 
[Giving  the  prostrate  GATES  a  kick]  Up  out  o' 


GOLD  27 

that,  Gates !  Go  with  Home,  and  when  ye  see  the 
schooner  hull  up,  wave  to  'em,  and  yell  like  mad,  d'ye 
hear  ? 

HORNE — Aye,  aye,  sir! 

BARTLETT — I'll  stay  here  and  bury  the  gold.  It's 
best  to  be  quick  about  it!  They  may  turn  a  spy 
glass  on  us  when  they  raise  the  island  from  deck! 
Off  with  ye!  [He  gives  GATES  another  kick.] 

GATES — [Groaning.']  I'm  sick!  [Incoherently.] 
Can't — report  for  duty — this  watch.  [With  a 
shout.]  Water! 

BARTLETT — [Contemptuously. ~\  Ye  dog!  Give 
him  a  hand,  Home. 

HORNE — [Putting  a  hand  under  his  shoulder.] 
Up,  man!  We're  to  signal  the  schooner.  There'll 
be  water  on  board  o'  her — barrels  of  it! 

GATES — [Aroused,  scrambles  to  his  feet,  vio 
lently  shaking  off  Home's  hand.]  Water  aboard  o' 
her!  [His  staring  eyes  catch  the  schooner's  sails  on 
the  horizon.  He  breaks  into  a  staggering  run  and 
disappears  down  toward  the  beach,  right  rear,  wav 
ing  his  arms  wildly  and  shouting.]  Ahoy!  Ahoy! 
Water!  [HORNE  walks  out  quickly  after  him.] 
[Left  alone,  BARTLETT,  after  a  quick  glance  around, 
sinks  on  his  knees  beside  the  chest  and  shoves  both 
hands  into  it.  From  the  chest  comes  a  metallic  clink 
as  he  -fingers  the  pieces  in  his  liands  gloatingly.] 
Ye're  safe  now!  There's  none  to  tell  left  livin'! 
He's  dead — damn  him! — that  lied  about  ye.  And 


28  GOLD 

ye'll  rest  safe  here  till  I  come  back  for  ye!  [In  a 
dreaming  tone,  his  eyes  -fixed  before  Mm  in  an  ec 
static  vision.]  No  more  whalin'  on  the  dirty  seas ! 
Rest  to  home!  Gold!  I've  been  dreamin'  o'  it  all 
my  life !  Aye — we'll  rest  now,  Sarah !  Your  father 
be  a  rich  man,  Nat  and  Sue!  [Shaking  himself— 
savagely.]  Ye  fool!  What  drivel  be  ye  talkin'? 
Loosin'  your  senses,  be  ye?  Time  ye  was  picked  up! 
Lucky!  [He  shoves  down  the  lid  and  places  the 
chest  in  the  hole.  He  pushes  the  sand  m  on  top  of 
it,  whispering  hoarsely.]  Lay  safe,  d'ye  hear.  For 
I'll  be  back  for  ye !  Aye — in  spite  of  hell  I'll  dig  ye 
up  again !  [The  voices  of  HORNE  and  JIMMY  can  be 
heard  from  the  distance  shouting  as 

[The  Curtain  Falls] 


ACT  TWO 

SCENE — Interior  of  an  old  boat-shed  on  the  wharf 
of  the  Bartlett  place  on  the  California  coast. 
In  the  rear,  a  double  doorway  looking  out  over 
the  end  of  the  wharf  to  the  bay  with  the  open 
sea  beyond.  On  the  left,  two  windows,  and 
another  door,  opening  on  the  dock.  Near  this 
door,  a  cot  with  blankets  and  a  pillow  without 
a  slip.  In  the  center,  front,  a  table  with  a 
bottle  and  glasses  on  it,  and  three  cane-bot 
tomed  chairs.  On  the  right,  a  fishing  dory. 
Here  and,  there  about  the  shed  all  sorts  of  odds 
and  ends  pertaining  to  a  ship — old  anchors, 
ropes,  tackle,  paint-pots,  old  spars,  etc. 

It  is  late  afternoon  of  a  day  six  months  later. 
Sunlight  -filters  -feebly  through  the  stained,  cob 
webby  window  panes. 

As  the  curtain  rises,  BARTLETT  and  SILAS 
HORNE  are  discovered.  HORNE  is  in  working 
clothes  of  paint-stained  dungaree.  If  his  suf 
ferings  on  the  island  have  left  any  marks  on  his 
dry  wizened  face,  they  are  undis  cover  able.  In 
BARTLETT,  however,  the  evidence  j,s  marked. 
His  hair  has  turned  white.  There  are  deep 
29 


30  GOLD 

hollows  under  his  cheek-bones.  His  jaw  and 
tight-lipped  mouth  express  defiant  determina 
tion,  as  if  he  were  fighting  back  some  weakness 
inside  himself,  a  weakness  found  in  his  eyes, 
which  have  something  in  them  of  fear,  of  a 
wishing  to  avoid  other  eyes.  He  is  dressed  much 
the  same  as  when  on  the  island.  He  sits  by  the 
table,  center,  his  abstracted  gaze  bent  on  the 
•floor  before  him. 

HORNE — [Who  is  evidently  waiting  for  the  Cap 
tain  to  say  something — after  a  pause,  glancing  at 
him  uneasily.]  I'd  best  be  gettin'  back  aboard  the 
schooner,  sir.  [Receiving  no  answer  he  starts  for 
the  door  on  the  left.~\ 

BARTLETT — [Rousing  himself  with  an  effort.] 
Wait.  [After  a  pause.]  The  full  tide's  at  dawn 
tomorrow,  ye  said? 

HORNE — Yes,  sir. 

BARTLETT — They  know  we'll  be  sailin'  then,  don't 
they — Gates  and  Jimmy? 

HORNE — Yes,  sir.  They're  all  ready.  Oh,  Cates 
and  Jimmy'll  be  glad  o'  the  word — and  me,  too,  sir. 
[With  a  greedy  grin.]  It's  all  we've  been  talkin'  of 
since  ye  brought  us  down  here — diggin'  up  the  gold ! 

BARTLETT — [Passionately.]  Aye,  the  gold! 
We'll  have  it  before  long,  now,  I  reckon.  That 
schooner — the  way  we've  fitted  her  up — she'd  take 
a  man  safe  to  the  Pole  and  back!  We'll  drop  an- 


GOLD  31 

chor  here  with  the  chest  on  board  in  six  months, 
unless [Hesitates.] 

HORNE — [Uneasily.]     What,  sir? 

BABTLETT — [Brusquely. ]  The  weather,  ye  fool! 
Can  ye  take  count  before  o'  storms  an*  calms? 

HORNE — We'll  trust  to  luck  for  that.  [Glancmg 
at  the  Captain  curiously.']  And  speakin'  o*  luck, 
sir — the  schooner  ain't  been  christened  yet. 

BARTLETT — [Betraying  a  sudden,  fierce  determi 
nation.]  She  will  be! 

HORNE — There'd  be  no  luck  for  a  ship  sailin'  out 
without  a  name. 

BARTLETT — She'll  have  a  name,  I  tell  ye !  A  name 
that'll  take  all  curse  away  and  leave  her  clean. 
She'll  be  named  the  Sarah  Allen,  and  Sarah'll 
christen  her  herself. 

HORNE — It  oughter  been  done,  by  rights,  when 
we  launched  her  a  month  back. 

BARTLETT — [Sternly.]  I  know  that  as  well  as  ye. 
(After  a  pause.]  She  wasn't  willin'  to  do  it  then. 
Women  has  queer  notions — when  they're  sick,  like. 
[Defiantly — as  if  he  were  addressing  someone  out 
side  of  the  room.]  But  Sarah'll  be  willin'  now! 

She'll  be  willin'  in  spite  o' [Catching  himself 

and  abruptly  lowering  his  voice.]  The  schooner'll 
be  christened  tomorrow  at  dawn  afore  she  sails. 

HORNE — Yes,  sir.  [He  again  turm  to  go,  as  if 
he  were  anxious  to  get  away.] 

BARTLETT — Wait !     There's  somethin'  else  I  want 


82  GOLD 

to  ask  ye.  Nat,  he's  been  hangin*  round  the  schooner 
all  his  spare  time  o'  late.  I  seen  him  talkin'  to  you 
and  Gates  and  Jimmy.  [With  rising  anger. ~\  I 
hope  ye've  remembered  what  I  ordered  ye,  all  three. 
Not  a  word  o'  it  to  him!  I  said  I'd  keep  him  out 
o'  this,  for  his  own  good,  mind!  And  if  I  thought 

any  of  ye [His  fist  is  raised  threateningly,  and 

he  glares  savagely  at  Horne.~\ 

HORNE — [Retreating  a  step — hastily.]  No  fear 
o'  that,  sir!  We've  been  keerful.  But  it's  hard. 
He's  a  sharp  one,  Nat  is.  And  when  we  tells  him 
the  schooner's  fitted  out  for  tradin'  in  the  islands, 
he  just  laughs.  He's  gettin'  the  wind  on  somethin' 
— without  any  o'  us  sayin'  a  word. 

BARTLETT — [In  relieved  tones.'}  Let  him  s'spect 
all  he's  a  mind  to — as  long  as  he  don't  know.  It 
ain't  that  I'm  afeerd  to  tell  him  o'  the  gold,  Silas 
Home.  He'll  share  that,  anyway.  [Slowly.']  It's 
them — other  things — I'd  keep  him  clear  of. 

HORNE — [Immediately  guessing  what  he  means — 
reassuringly.]  We  was  all  out  o'  our  heads  with 
thirst  and  sun  when  them  things  happened,  sir. 

BARTLETT — Mad?  Aye!  But  I  ain't  forgot — 
them  two.  [Harshly. ~\  I'd  rather  be  you  nor  me, 
Silas  Home.  You  be  too  rotten  bad  to  care.  And 
I'd  rather  be  Gates  or  Jimmy.  Gates  be  too  dull  to 
remember,  and  Jimmy  be  proud  as  a  boy  o'  what 
he  done.  [He  represses  a  shudder — then  goes  on 


GOLD  33 

slowly.]  Do  they  ever  come  back  to  you — when 
you're  asleep,  I  mean? 

HORNE — [Pretending  mystification.]  Who's  that, 
sir? 

BARTLETT — [With  sombre  emphasis.]  That  cook 
and  that  boy.  They  come  to  me.  I'm  gettin'  to  be 
afeered  o'  goin'  to  sleep — not  'feered  o'  them,  I  don't 
mean.  [With  sudden  defiant  bravado.]  Not  all  the 
ghosts  out  o'  hell  kin  keep  me  from  a  thing  I've  set 
my  mind  on.  [Collecting  himself.]  But  I've  waked 
up  talkin'  out  loud — to  them — and  I'm  afeerd  there 
might  be  someone  hear  me.  That's  why  I've  been 
sleepin'  down  here  to  the  boat-house  all  alone. 

HORNE — [Uneasily — with  an  attempt  to  be  reas 
suring.]  You  ain't  all  cured  o'  that  sun  and  thirst 
on  the  island  yet,  sir. 

BARTLETT — [Evidently  reassured — roughly.]  O9 
course!  D'ye  think  I'd  really  believe  in  things  in 
nightmares?  [With  an  attempt  at  conviviality.] 
Sit  down  a  bit,  Home,  and  take  a  grog.  [HORNE 
does  so.  BARTLETT  pours  out  a  half-tumbler  full  of 
rum  for  himself  and  shoves  the  bottle  over  to 
HORNE.] 

HORNE — Luck  to  our  vige,  sir. 

BARTLETT — Aye,  luck!  [They  drink.  BARTLETT 
leans  over  and  taps  HORNE  on  the  arm.]  Aye,  it 
takes  time  to  get  cured  o'  thirst  and  sun!  Lucky 
that  tradin'  schooner  picked  us  up  the  time  she 
did. 


34  GOLD 

HORNE — If  she  hadn't — we'd  been  as  dead  men 
— as  them  two. 

BARTLETT — [Somberly — after  a  pause.']  I  spoke 
no  word,  Silas  Home,  d'ye  remember? 

HORNE — Nor  me.  Jimmy  did  it  alone.  [Craftily.] 
We'd  all  three  swear  Bible  oaths  to  that  in  any 
court.  And  even  if  ye'd  given  the  word,  there  ain't 
no  good  thinkin'  more  o'  it,  sir.  Didn't  they  deserve 
all  they  got — that  thief  o*  a  cook  and  that  boy? 
Wasn't  they  plottin'  on  the  sly  to  steal  the  gold? 

BARTLETT — [His  eyes  gleaming. ~\     Aye! 

HORNE — And  when  you  said  he'd  get  no  share  of 
it,  didn't  he  lie  to  your  face  that  it  wasn't  gold — 
thinkin'  we'd  leave  it  be  and  he'd  git  it  all  for  him 
self? 

BARTLETT — [With  sudden  rage."]  Aye,  brass 
and  junk,  he  said,  the  lyin'  scum  I  That's  what  he 
keeps  sayin'  when  I  see  him  in  sleep !  He  didn't  be 
lieve — makin'  a  mock  o'  me — an'  then  he  owned  up 
himself  'twas  gold!  He  knew!  He  lied  a-purpose! 
He  was  a  cunnin'  rat — a  thief  ashore  afore  they 
shipped  him  with  us,  I  reckon. 

HORNE — [Eagerly.]     Most  like,  sir. 

BARTLETT — [Rising  to  his  feet — with  confident  de 
fiance.]  They  deserved  no  better  nor  they  got. 
Let  'em  rot !  [Pouring  out  another  drink  for  liimr 
self  and  HORNE.]  We'll  drink,  an'  then  ye  get  back 
to  the  ship.  Tell  Gates  and  Jimmy  we  sail  at  dawn 
— sure!  [He  drinks.'] 


GOLD  35 

HORNE — Luck,  sir I  [He  drinks.  There  is  a  knock 
at  the  door  on  the  left  -followed  by  MRS.  BARTLETT'S 
voice  calling  feebly,  "!SAIAH  !  ISAIAH  !"  BARTLETT 
starts  but  makes  no  answer.  He  seems  suddenly 
sunk  in  gloom  again.  HORNE  turns  to  him  ques- 
tioningly.]  It's  Mrs.  Bartlett,  sir.  Shall  I  open 
the  door? 

BARTLETT — No.  I  ain't  aimin'  to  see  her — yet 
awhile.  [Then  with  sudden  reasonless  rage.]  Let 
her  in,  damn  ye!  [HORNE  goes  and  unhooks  the 
door.  MRS.  BARTLETT  enters.  She  is  a  slight,  slen 
der  little  woman  of  fifty.  Sickness,  or  the  inroads  of 
a  premature  old  age,  have  bowed  her  shoulders, 
whitened  her  hair,  and  forced  her  to  walk  feebly  with 
the  aid  of  a  cane.  A  resolute  spirit  still  -flashes  from 
her  eyes,  however,  and  there  is  a  look  of  fixed  de 
termination  on  her  face.  She  stands  gazing  at  her 
husband.  There  is  something  accusing  in  her  stare.'} 

BARTLETT — [Avoiding  her  eyes  —  brusquely. ] 
Well?  What  is  it  ye  want  o'  me,  Sarah? 

MRS.  B. — I  want  to  speak  with  you  alone,  Isaiah. 

HORNE — I'll  be  gettin'  back  aboard,  sir.  [Starts 
to  go.~] 

BARTLETT — [In  a  tone  almost  of  fear.]  Wait. 
I'm  goin'  with  ye.  [Turning  to  his  wife — with  a  cer 
tain  rough  tenderness.'}  Ye  oughtn't  to  walk  down 
the  hill  here,  Sarah.  The  doctor  told  ye  to  rest  in 
the  house  and  save  your  strength. 


36  GOLD 

MRS.  B. — I  want  to  speak  to  you  alone,  Isaiah. 
You  never  come  to  home  no  more,  hardly,  so  I  had 
to  come  to  ye.  [Accusingly]  You  know  it  ain't 
walkin'  is  sappin*  my  strength,  Isaiah. 

BARTLETT — [Very  uneasily.]  I've  got  to  work  on 
the  schooner,  Sarah.  That's  why  I've  no  time  to 
home. 

MRS.  B. — She'll  be  sailin'  soon? 

BARTLETT — [Suddenly  turning  on  her  de 
fiantly.]  Tomorrow  at  dawn! 

MRS.  B. — [With  her  eyes  fixed  accusingly  on 
his.]  And  you  be  goin'  with  her? 

BARTLETT — [In  the  same  defiant  tone]  Yes,  I 
be!  Who  else'd  captain  her? 

MRS.  B. — On  a  craft  without  a  name. 

BARTLETT — She'll  have  that  name. 

MRS.  B. — No. 

BARTLETT — She'll  have  that  name,  I  tell  ye. 

MRS.  B.— No. 

BARTLETT — [Thoroughly  aroused,  his  will  tries 
to  break  hers,  but  finds  her  unbending.  He  mutters 
menacingly.]  Ye'll  see!  We'll  talk  o'  that  later, 
you  and  me.  [With  sudden  apprehension]  But 
not  now.  They's  plenty  o'  time  yet  for  that.  Come 
on,  Home,  we'll  get  aboard.  [Without  a  further 
glance  at  his  wife  he  strides  past  her  and  disappears 
through  the  doorway,  -followed  by  HORNE.  MRS. 
BARTLETT  sinks  down  in  the  chair  by  the  table.  She 
appears  suddenly  weak  and  crushed.  Then  from 


GOLD  37 

outside  comes  a  girTs  laughing  voice.  MRS.  BARTLETT 
does  not  seem  to  hear,  nor  to  notice  SUE  and  DREW 
when  they  enter.  SUE  is  a  slender,  pretty  girl  of 
about  twenty,  with  large  blue  eyes,  reddish-brown 
hair,  and  a  healthy,  sun-tanned,  out-of-door  com 
plexion.  In  spite  of  the  slightness  of  her  figure  there 
is  a  suggestion  of  great  vitality  and  nervous 
strength  about  her.  DREW  is  a  well-set-up,  tall 
young  fellow  of  thirty.  Not  in  any  way  handsome, 
his  boyish  face,  tanned  to  a  deep  brown,  possesses 
an  engaging  character  of  healthy,  cheerful  force- 
fullness  that  has  its  compelling  charm.  There  would 
be  no  chance  of  mistaking  him  for  anything  but  the 
ship's  officer  he  is.  It  is  written  on  his  face,  his 
walk,  his  voice,  his  whole  bearing.~\ 

SUE — [As  they  enter.~\  He'll  either  be  here  or 
on  the  schooner,  Danny.  [Then  she  sees  her  mother, 
with  startled  amazement. ~\  Ma !  Good  heavens, 
what  are  you  doing  here?  [Throwing  her  arms 
around  her  neck  and  kissing  her.~\  Don't  you  know 
you  shouldn't 

MRS.  B. — [With  a  start — turning  to  her  daugh 
ter  with  a  forced  smile. ~\  There,  Sue,  now!  Don't 
go  scoldin'  me.  [Then  seeing  DREW — in  a  tone  of 
forced  gaiety.']  And  if  there  ain't  Danny  Drew — 
back  home  to  port  at  last!  You  can  kiss  an  old 
woman,  Danny — without  makin'  her  jealous,  I 
reckon. 

DREW — [Kissing   her — with   a   smile. ~\      I   don't 


38  GOLD 

know  about  that,  Ma  Bartlett.  [Heartily.]  It 
certainly  seems  good  to  see  you  again — and  be  back 
again  myself. 

MRS,  B. — We've  been  expectin'  you  right  along 
this  past  month.  Then  we  read  in  the  paper  t'other 
day  where  your  ship'd  reached  San  Francisco,  and 
we  knew  you'd  be  down  any  day.  Sue's  been  on  pins 
and  needles  ever  since. 

SUE — [Protestingly.]     Ma! 

DREW — We  were  delayed  in  Valparaiso,  waiting 
for  cargo.  [With  a  grin.']  It's  a  long  time  to  be 
away  from  Sue — four  months. 

SUE — [Laughing.]  It  seems  more  like  four 
years ! 

DREW — You  remember,  Ma,  I  left  just  after  the 
big  excitement  here — when  Captain  Bartlett  turned 
up  after  we'd  all  heard  the  Triton  was  wrecked  and 
given  him  up  for  lost.  That  was  sure  a  wonderful 
surprise  when  he  walked  into  the  house  that  day. 

MRS.  B. — [Her  face  clouding — in  a  tone  of  deep 
sorrow.]  Yes.  [DREW  is  surprised  and  glances  at 
SUE  questioningly.  She  sighs.  MRS.  BARTLETT  gets 
to  her  feet  with  difficulty,  assisted  by  DREW.  She 
forces  a  smile.]  I've  taken  on  a  third  leg  since  you 
was  here,  Danny ! 

SUE — We'll  help  you  back  to  the  house.  You 
can't  climb  that  steep  hill  alone. 

MRS.  B. — Shucks !  I'm  sick  o*  the  house.  I  need 
sun  and  fresh  air,  and  today's  so  nice  I  couldn't  stay 


GOLD  30 

indoors.  I'll  take  your  arm  to  hold  on  to,  Danny. 
No,  I  ain't  goin'  up  to  the  house  yet  awhile,  so  don't 
you  try  to  bully  me  into  it,  Sue.  I'm  goin'  to  set  in 
the  shade  o'  this  shed  out  on  the  wharf  and  watch 
vour  Pa  workin'  on  the  schooner.  Ain't  much  time 
left  to  see  her,  Sue.  They're  sailin'  tomorrow  at 
dawn,  your  Pa  says. 

SUE — Tomorrow?  Then — you're  going  to  christen 
her? 

MRS.  B. — [With  grim  determination.]  No,  I 
ain't,  Sue!  [Catching  DREW'S  glance  fxed  on  her 
with  puzzled  curiosity,  she  immediately  attempts 
to  resume  her  joking  tone.]  Shucks!  Here's  Danny 
wonderin'  what  silliness  we're  talkin'  of.  It's  just 
this,  Danny.  Captain  Bartlett,  he's  got  a  crazy  no 
tion  in  his  head  that  just  because  his  ship  was 
wrecked  last  vige  he'll  give  up  whalin'  for  life.  He's 
fitted  out  this  little  schooner  for  tradin'  in  the 
Islands.  More  money  in  that,  he  says.  But  I  don't 
agree  with  no  such  lunatic  notions,  and  I'm  just  that 
stubborn  I'm  not  goin'  to  set  my  approval  on  his 
craziness  by  christenin'  his  ship  writh  my  name,  like 
he  wants  me  to.  He'd  ought  to  stick  to  whalin,'  like 
he's  done  all  his  life.  Don't  you  think  so,  Danny? 

DREW — [Embarrassed.']  Why,  sure — he's  rated 
one  of  the  smartest  whaling  skippers  here  on  the 
coast — and  I  should  think — 

MRS.  B. — Just  what  I  tell  him — only  he's  that 
stubborn.  I'd  best  get  out  quick  while  it's  still 


40  GOLD 

sunny  and  warm.  It's  damp  in  here  for  an  old  body. 
[DREW  helps  her  to  the  door  on  the  left,  opens  it, 
and  the  two  go  out,  followed  by  SUE,  who  carries  a 
chair.  After  a  pause,  SUE  and  DREW  return.  SUE 
carefully  shuts  the  door  after  them.  Her  face  is 
troubled.'] 

DREW — [Looks  at  her  for  a  minute,  then  comes 
and  puts  his  arm  around  her  and  kisses  her.]  What's 
the  trouble,  Sue? 

SUE — [Trying  to  force  a  smile.]  Nothing,  Danny. 

DREW — Oh,  yes  there  is !  No  use  putting  me  off 
that  way.  Why,  I've  felt  it  hanging  about  in  the 
air  ever  since  I  first  looked  at  your  mother. 

SUE — Yes,  she's  failed  terribly  since  you  saw  her 
last. 

DREW — Oh,  I  don't  mean  just  sickness — only — 
did  you  notice  how  she  had  to — force  herself — to 
joke  about  things?  She  used  to  be  so  cheerful 
natural.  [Scratching  his  head  in  honest  puzzle 
ment.]  But — that  ain't  what  I  mean,  either.  What 
is  it,  Sue?  Maybe  I  can  help  somehow.  You  look 
worried,  too.  Pshaw!  You  can  tell  me,  can't  you? 

SUE — Why,  yes,  Danny — of  course — if  I  could 
tell — only  I'm  just  as  puzzled  as  you  over  what  it 
comes  from. 

DREW — [Persuasively.]  Well,  you  sit  down  and 
tell  me  what's  happened  since  I've  been  away.  Then 
maybe  we  can  put  our  heads  together  and  figure  out 
what's  wrong,  and  turn  to  to  get  things  ship-shape 


GOLD  41 

again.  [SuE  sits  down  but  does  not  speak.  DREW 
remarks  as  if  to  get  her  started.]  That  schooner's 
a  smart  little  craft  for  sailing,  I  should  say.  I 
didn't  notice  no  one  about  working,  though. 

SUE — No.  They're  probably  below  in  the  cabin, 
drinking.  That's  all  they've  been  doing  lately.  The 
schooner's  been  ready  to  sail  for  two  weeks — but 
Pa  has  kept  waiting — I  don't  know  what  for.  Yes, 
I  do  know,  too — I  think  I  guess.  He's  been  waiting 
for  Ma  to  give  in  and  christen  the  ship  with  her 
name.  But  she  won't  give  in.  You  heard  her. 

DREW — Well,  I  suppose  she  does  take  it  to  heart 
that  he'd  give  up  the  business  he's  been  in  all  his 
life  to  go  in  for  something  new — at  his  age. 

SUE — He  mortgaged  the  house  to  get  money  to 
buy  and  fit  out  this  schooner.  You  know  he  lost 
most  everything  when  the  Triton  was  wrecked.  He'd 
only  had  her  two  years,  and  she  cost  him  a  pile  of 
money.  Then,  too,  he's  lost  a  lot  all  his  life — 
since  he  and  Ma  moved  out  here  from  the  East — 
investing  in  all  sorts  of  silly  mining  ventures — gold 
mines  that  always  turned  out  to  be  only  holes  in 
the  ground.  As  far  back  as  I  can  remember  he's 
never  seemed  to  care  about  the  whaling  business — 
the  oil.  Ambergris  was  what  he  was  after.  Finding 
one  chunk  of  that  meant  more  to  him  than  a  full 
cargo  of  oil. 

DREW — [With  a  grin.]  "Old  Ambergris."  That's 
what  they  call  him  along  the  coast — behind  his  back, 


42  GOLD 

of  course.  I  reckon  he  was  sort  of  prospecting  the 
Pacific  Ocean  looking  for  an  ambergris  mine. 
[Apologetically.]  Sounds  as  if  I  was  making  fun 
of  him,  but  you  remember  how  you'n'  me  'n'  Nat  used 
to  laugh  about  it  together. 

SUE — It's  past  a  laughing  matter  now,  Danny. 

DREW — And  what  do  you  reckon  the  real  trouble 
is? 

SUE — Something  between  him  and  Ma— some- 
thing  that  only  the  two  of  them  know.  It  all  seemed 
to  start  one  morning  after  you'd  left — about  a  week 
after  he'd  come  home  with  those  three  awful  men. 
During  that  first  week  he  acted  all  right — just  like 
he  used  to — only  he'd  get  talking  kind  of  wild  now 
and  then  about  being  glad  the  Triton  was  lost,  and 
promising  we'd  all  be  millionaires  once  he  started 
making  trips  on  the  schooner.  Ma  didn't  seem  to 
mind  his  going  in  for  trading  then.  Then,  the  night 
of  the  day  he  bought  the  schooner,  something  must 
have  happened  between  them.  Neither  of  them  came 
down  to  breakfast.  I  went  up  to  Ma,  and  found 
her  so  sick  we  sent  for  the  doctor.  He  said  she'd 
suffered  a  great  shock  of  some  kind,  although  she 
wouldn't  tell  him  a  word.  I  found  Pa  down  in  this 
shed.  He'd  moved  that  cot  down  here,  and  said 
he'd  have  to  sleep  here  after  that  because  he  wanted 
to  be  near  the  schooner.  It's  been  that  way  ever 
since.  He's  slept  down  here  and  never  come  up  to 
the  house  except  at  mealtimes.  He's  never  been 


GOLD  43 

alone  with  Ma  one  second  since  then,  I  don't  believe. 
And  she — she's  been  trying  to  corner  him,  to  get  him 
alone.  I've  noticed  it,  although  she  does  her  best 
to  hide  it  from  Nat  and  me.  And  she's  been  failing, 
growing  weaker  and  sicker  looking  every  day. 
[Breaking  down.]  Oh,  Danny,  these  last  months 
have  been  terrible!  I'm  so  glad  you're  back  again. 

DREW — [Soothing  her.]  There!  It'll  all  come 
out  right. 

SUE — I'm  sure  that's  why  she's  crept  down  here 
today.  She's  bound  she'll  see  him  alone  before  he 
sails. 

DREW — Well,  maybe  it's  for  the  best.  Maybe 
when  they've  had  it  out,  things'll  clear  up. 

SUE — Yes,  perhaps.  But  I  can't  help  feeling — 
it'll  only  make  it  worse. 

DREW — [Frowning.]  Seems  to  me  it  must  be 
all  your  Pa's  fault,  Sue — whatever  it  is.  Have  you 
tried  to  talk  to  him? 

SUE — Yes — a  good  many  times ;  but  all  he's  ever 
said  was :  "There's  things  you  wouldn't  take  inter 
est  in,  Sue.  You'll  know  when  it's  time  to  know." — 
and  then  he'd  break  off  by  asking  me  what  I'd  like 
most  to  have  in  the  world  if  he  had  piles  of  money. 
And  then,  one  time,  he  seemed  to  be  terribly  afraid 
of  something,  and  he  said  to  me;  "You  hustle  up 
and  marry  Danny,  Sue.  You  marry  him  and  get 
out  of  this." 

DREW — [With  an  affectionate  grin.]     That  does 


44  GOLD 

sound  crazy — any  man  wanting  to  get  rid  of  you 
that  way.  [A  note  of  entreaty  in  his  voice.]  But 
I  surely  wish,  you'd  take  his  advice,  Suel  [He 
kisses  her. ] 

SUE — {With  intense  longing.'}  Oh,  I  wish  I 
could,  Danny. 

DREW — I've  quite  considerable  saved  now,  Sue, 
and  it  won't  be  so  long  before  I  get  my  own  ship, 
I'm  hoping,  now  that  I've  got  my  master's  certifi 
cate.  I  was  hoping  at  the  end  of  this  voyage 

SUE — So  was  I,  Danny — but  it  can't  be  this  time. 
With  Ma  so  weak,  and  no  one  to  take  care  of  her 
but  me [Shaking  Tier  head — in  a  tone  of  de 
cision.']  I  couldn't  leave  home  now,  Danny.  It 
wouldn't  be  right.  I  couldn't  feel  really  happy — 
until  this  thing — whatever  it  is — is  settled  between 
Pa  and  Ma  and  they're  just  as  they  used  to  be 
again.  [Pleadingly.]  You  understand,  don't  you, 
Danny? 

DREW — [Soberly.]  Why — surely  I  do,  Sue.  [He 
pats  her  hand.]  Only,  it's  hard  waiting.  [He 
sighs.] 

SUE — I  know.    It's  just  as  hard  for  me. 

DREW — I  thought  maybe  I  could  help;  but  this 
isn't  anything  anyone  outside  your  family  could 
mix  in.  [SUE  shakes  her  head.  He  goes  on  gloomily 
after  a  pause.]  What's  the  matter  with  Nat?  Seems 
as  if  he  ought  to  be  able  to  step  in  and  talk  turkey 
to  your  Pa. 


GOLD  45 

SUE — [Slowly.]  You'll  find  Nat  changed,  too, 
Danny — changed  terribly.  He's  caught  the  disease 
— whatever  it  is.  You  know  how  interested  in  his 
work  he's  been  ever  since  they  put  him  in  the  de 
signing  department  down  in  the  shipyard? 

DREW — Yes. 

SUE — [With  emphasis.']  Well,  all  that's  changed. 
He  hates  it  now,  or  at  least  he  says  he  does.  And 
when  he  comes  home,  he  spends  all  his  time  prowling 
around  the  dock  here,  talking  with  those  three  awful 
men.  And  what  do  you  think  he  told  me  only  the 
other  day?  That  he  was  bound  he'd  throw  up  his 
job  and  make  this  voyage  on  the  schooner.  He 
even  asked  me  to  ask  Pa  to  let  him  go. 

DREW — Your  Pa  doesn't  want  him  to,  eh? 

SUE — Why,  of  course  not !  Leave  a  fine  position 
he  worked  so  hard  to  get  just  for  this  crazy  notion ! 
Pa'd  never  let  him.  He's  even  ordered  him  to  keep 
off  the  schooner  and  not  to  talk  to  those  men. 

DREW — Funny  Nat'd  like  to  go  to  sea.  He's  al 
ways  seemed  to  want  to  fight  shy  of  it. 

SUE — The  terrible  part  is,  he's  got  Ma  worried  to 
death — as  if  she  wasn't  upset  enough  already.  She's 
so  afraid  he'll  go— that  Pa'll  let  him  at  the  last 
moment.  She's  always  pleading  with  Nat  not  to 
think  of  it — so  that  he  keeps  out  of  her  way,  too. 
Poor  Ma !  She's  only  got  me  to  talk  to. 

DREW — Maybe  I  can  help  after  all.  I  can  talk 
to  Nat. 


46  GOLD 

SUE — [Shaking  her  head.~\  He's  not  the  same 
Nat,  Danny. 

DREW — [Trying  to  be  consoling.']  Pshaw,  Sue! 
I  think  you  just  get  to  imagining  things.  [As  he  fin 
ishes  speaking,  the  door  in  the  rear  opens  and  NAT 
appears.  He  is  a  tall,  loose-framed  boy  of  eighteen, 
who  bears  a  striking  resemblance  to  his  father.  His 
face,  like  his  father's,  is  large  and  bony,  with  deep' 
set  black  eyes,  an  aquiline  nose,  and  a  wide,  thin- 
lipped  mouth.  There  is  no  suggestion  in  NAT,  how 
ever,  of  the  older  man's  physical  health  and  great 
strength.  He  appears  an  indoor  product,  unde 
veloped  in  muscle,  with  a  sallow  complexion  and 
stooped  shoulders.  His  thick  hair  is  a  deep  black. 
His  voice  recalls  his  father's,  hollow  and  penetrat 
ing.  He  is  dressed  in  a  grey  -flannel  shirt  and  cordu 
roy  trousers.  DREW  calls  out  to  him  heartly.~]  Hello, 
Nat!  Speak  of  the  Devil!  Sue  and  I  were  just 
talking  about  you.  [He  goes  toward  NAT,  his  hand 
outstretched.'} 

NAT — [Comes  toward  them,  meets  DREW,  and 
shakes  his  hand  with  evident  pleasure. ,]  Hello, 
Danny !  You're  a  sight  for  sore  eyes !  [His  man 
ner  undergoes  a  sudden  change.  He  casts  a  quick, 
suspicious  glance  from  DREW  to  his  sister.]  You 
were  talking  about  me?  What  about? 

SUE — [Quickly — with  a  warning  glance  at 
DREW.]  About  your  work  down  at  the  shipyard. 


GOLD  47 

NAT — [Disgustedly.]  Oh,  that.  [In  a  tone  of  rea 
sonless  irritation.]  For  God's  sake,  Sue,  let  me 
alone  about  my  work.  Don't  I  have  to  live  with  the 
damn  thing  all  day,  without  your  shoving  it  in  my 
face  the  minute  I  get  home?  I  want  to  forget  it — 
get  away! 

DREW — Go  to  sea,  eh? 

NAT — [Suspiciously.]  Maybe.  Why?  What  do 
you  mean? 

DREW — [Warned  by  a  glance  from  Sue,  says 
carelessly.]  Well,  that's  where  you'd  be  apt  to  go, 
isn't  it? 

NAT — [Suspiciously.]  That  isn't  what  you  were 
thinking,  Danny.  [Turning  to  his  sister — angrily.] 
What  have  you  been  telling  Danny? 

SUE — I  was  talking  about  the  schooner — telling 
him  that  she  sails  tomorrow. 

NAT — [Dumfounded.]  Tomorrow?  [Overcome 
by  sudden,  nervous  excitement.]  It  can't  be.  How 
do  you  know?  Who  told  you? 

SUE — Ma.     Pa  told  her. 

NAT — Then  she's  been  talking  to  him — telling  him 
not  to  take  me,  I'll  bet.  [Angrily.]  Oh,  I  wish 
Ma'd  mind  her  own  business ! 

SUE— Nat ! 

NAT — Well,  Sue,  how  would  you  like  it?  I'm  not 
a  little  boy  any  more.  I  know  what  I  want  to  do. 
I  want  to  go  with  them.  I  want  to  go  more  than 
I've  ever  wanted  anything  else  in  my  life  before. 


48  GOLD 

He — he  doesn't  want  me.  He's  afraid  I —  But  I 

think  I  can  force  him  to [He  glances  at 

DREW'S  amazed  face  and  stops  abruptly — sullenly.] 
Where  is  Pa? 

SUE — He's  aboard  the  schooner. 

NAT — [Disappoint edly.~]  Then  it's  no  good  try 
ing  to  see  him  now.  I'll  have  to  wait. 

DREW — Sound's  funny  to  hear  you  talking  about 
going  to  sea.  Why,  you  always  used 

NAT — [Wearily. ]     I  know.     This  is  different. 

DREW — You  want  to  see  the  Islands,  I  suppose? 

NAT — [Suspiciously.'}     Maybe.     Why  not? 

DREW — What  group  is  your  Pa  heading  for  first  ? 

NAT — [More  suspiciously.]  You'll  have  to  ask 
him.  Why  do  you  want  to  know?  [Abruptly."]  You 
better  be  getting  up  to  the  house,  Sue — if  we're  to 
have  any  supper.  Danny  must  be  hungry.  [He 
turns  Jus  back  on  them.  They  exchange  meaning 
glances.] 

SUE — [With  a  sigh]  It  must  be  getting  late. 
Come  on,  Danny.  You  can  see  Pa  later  on.  [They 
go  toward  the  door  in  the  rear]  Aren't  you  com 
ing,  Nat? 

NAT — No.  I'll  wait.  [Impatiently.]  Go  ahead. 
I'll  be  up  before  long. 

DREW — See  you  later,  then,  Nat. 

NAT — Yes.  [They  go  out,  rear.  NAT  paces  up 
and  down  in  a  great  state  of  excitement.  The  door 
on  the  left  is  opened  and  BARTLETT  enters.  His  eyes 


GOLD  49 

are  wild,  as  if  he  had  been  drinking  heavily,  but  he 
shows  no  other  effects.  Father  and  son  stand  look 
ing  at  one  another  for  a  second.  NAT  takes  a  step 
backward  as  if  in  fear,  then  straightens  up  de 
fiantly.'] 

BARTLETT — [Slowly.]  Is  this  the  way  ye  mind 
my  orders,  boy?  I've  told  ye  time  an'  again  not  to 
be  sneakin'  and  spyin'  around  this  wharf. 

NAT — I'm  not  sneaking  and  spying.  I  wanted  to 
talk  to  you,  Pa. 

BARTLETT — [Sits  down  by  the  table.]  Well,  here 
I  be. 

NAT — Sue  said  the  schooner  sails  tomorrow. 

BARTLETT — Aye ! 

NAT — [Resolutely.]     I  want  to  go  with  you,  Pa. 

BARTLETT — [Briefly — as  if  dismissing  the  mat 
ter.]  Ye  can't.  I've  told  ye  that  before.  Let  this 
be  the  last  time  ye  ask  it. 

NAT — But  why  ?    Why  can't  I  go  ? 

BARTLETT — Ye've  your  own  work  to  do — good 
work.  Attend  to  that  and  leave  me  to  mine. 

NAT — But  you  always  wanted  me  to  go  on  voy 
ages  to  learn  whaling  with  you. 

BARTLETT — This  be  different. 

NAT — [With  excited  indignation.]  Yes,  this  is 
different !  Don't  I  know  it  ?  Do  you  think  you  can 
hide  that  from  me?  It  is  different,  and  that's  why 
I  want  to  go. 


50  GOLD 

BARTLETT — Ye  can't,  I  say. 

NAT — [Pleadingly. ]  But  why  not,  Pa?  Fm  not 
a  boy.  I  can  do  a  man's  work  on  a  ship,  or  any 
where  else. 

BARTLETT — [Roughly.]  Let's  have  done  with 
talk!  Your  place  is  here,  with  Sue  and  your  Ma, 
and  here  you'll  stay. 

NAT — [Angrily. ]  That  isn't  any  reason.  But 
I  know  your  real  one.  You're  afraid 

BARTLETT — [Half  rising  to  Ms  feet.~]  Ye  say 
that  to  me?  [Recovering  himself  with  an  effort  and 
settling  down  again.]  Keep  a  clapper  on  your  jaw, 
boy.  That's  talk  I'll  not  put  up  with.  [With  a 
touch  of  uneasiness — forcing  a  scornful  laugh.] 
Afeerd!  Afeerd  o*  what?  Did  ye  ever  know  me  to 
be  afeerd? 

NAT — Afraid  of  what  I  know,  of  what  I  might 
find  out  if  I  went  with  you. 

BARTLETT — [With  the  same  forced,  uneasy 
scorn.]  And  what  d'ye  think  ye'd  find  out,  Nat? 

NAT — First  of  all  that  it's  not  a  trading  venture 
you're  going  on.  Oh,  I'm  not  a  fool!  That  story 
is  all  right  to  fool  the  neighbors  and  girls  like  Sue. 
But  I  know  better. 

BARTLETT — What  d'ye  know? 

NAT — You're   going   for   something   else. 

BARTLETT — What  would  that  be  ? 

NAT — I  don't  know — exactly.  Something — on 
that  island. 


GOLD  51 

BARTLETT— What? 

NAT — I  don't  know.  But  I  could  guess  a  lot  of 
things.  [With  sudden  excitement.]  Ambergris! 
That's  it!  Is  that  it?  It  must  be.  That's  what 
you've  been  hunting  for  years. 

BARTLETT — Aye — and  never  found!  [He  gets  to 
his  feet  with  a  forced  burst  of  laughter.]  Ambergris ! 
Ye  fool  of  a  boy !  Ye  got  that  notion  out  o'  some 
fool  book  ye've  been  reading,  didn't  ye?  And  I 
thought  ye'd  growed  to  be  a  man !  [More  and  more 
wild  in  his  forced  scorn]  Ye'll  be  tellin'  me  next  it's 
buried  treasure  I  be  sailin'  after — pirates'  gold  bur 
ied  on  that  island — all  in  a  chest — and  a  map  to 
guide  me  with  a  cross  marked  on  it  where  the  gold  is 
hid !  And  then  they  be  ghosts  guardin'  it,  ben't  they 
— spirits  o'  murdered  men?  They  always  be,  in  the 
books.  [He  laughs  scornfully. ~\ 

NAT — [Gazing  at  him  with  fascinated  eyes.]  No, 
not  that  last.  That's  silly — but  I  did  think  you 
might  have  found — 

BARTLETT — [Laughing  again]  Treasure?  Gold? 
[With  forced  sternness]  Nat,  I  be  ashamed  of  ye. 
Ye've  had  schooling  and  ye've  been  doin'  a  man's 
work  in  the  world,  and  doin'  it  well,  and  I'd  hoped 
ye'd  take  my  place  here  to  home  when  I  be  away,  and 
look  after  your  Ma  and  Sue.  But  ye've  owned  up 
to  bein'  little  better  nor  a  boy  in  short  britches, 
dreamin'  o'  pirates'  gold  that  never  was  'cept  in 
books. 


52  GOLD 

NAT — But  you — you're  to  blame.  When  you  first 
came  home  you  did  nothing  but  talk  mysteriously 
of  how  rich  we'd  all  be  when  the  schooner  got  back. 

BARTLETT — [Roughly.']  But  what's  that  to  do 
with  silly  dreams?  It's  in  the  line  o'  trade  I  meant. 

NAT — But  why  be  so  mysterious  about  trade? 
There's  something  you're  hiding.  You  can't  say  no 
because  I  feel  it. 

BARTLETT — [Insinuatingly — with  a  crafty  glance 
at  his  son.~\  Supposin'  in  one  of  them  Eastern  trad 
ing  ports  I'd  run  across  a  bit  o*  business  with  a 
chance  for  a  fortune  in  it  for  a  man  that  wasn't 
afeerd  of  the  law,  and  could  keep  his  mouth  shut? 

NAT — [Disappointed.'}  You  mean  illegal  trading? 

BARTLETT — I  mean  what  I  mean,  Nat — and  I'd  be 
a  fool  to  tell  an  overgrown  boy,  or  two  women — or 
any  man  in  the  world,  for  the  matter  o'  that — what 
I  do  mean. 

NAT — [Turning  toward  the  door  in  the  rear — dis 
gustedly.'}  If  it's  only  that,  I  don't  want  to  hear  it. 
[He  walks  toward  the  door — stops  and  turns  again 
to  his  father.}  No,  I  don't  believe  it.  That's  not  like 
you.  You're  not  telling  the  truth,  Pa. 

BARTLETT — [Rising  to  his  feet — with  a  savage 
sternness  in  which  there  is  a  wild  note  of  entreaty.} 
I've  listened  to  your  fool's  talk  enough.  Get  up 
to  the  house  where  ye  belong!  I'll  stand  no  more  o' 
your  meddling  in  business  o'  mine.  I've  been  patient 
with  ye,  but  there's  an  end  to  that!  Take  heed  o' 


GOLD  53 

what  I'm  sayin',  if  ye  know  what's  good  for  ye !  I'd 
rather  see  ye  dead  tonight  than  sail  on  that  schooner 
at  dawn.  I'd  kill  ye  with  my  own  hands  first !  [With 
a  sort  of  sombre  pride.]  I'll  stand  alone  in  this  busi 
ness  and  finish  it  out  alone  if  I  go  to  hell  for  it.  Ye 
hear  me? 

NAT — [Alarmed  by  this  outburst — submissively.'} 
Yes,  Pa. 

BARTLETT — Then  see  that  ye  heed.  [After  a 
pause — as  NAT  lingers.]  They'll  be  waitin*  for  ye  at 
the  house. 

NAT — All  right.  I'll  go.  [He  turns  to  the  door 
way  on  the  left,  but  before  he  gets  to  it,  the  door 
is  pushed  open  and  MRS.  BARTLETT  enters.  NAT 
stops,  startled.]  Ma! 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [With  a  forced  smile]  Run 
along,  Nat.  It's  all  right.  I  want  to  speak  with 
your  Pa. 

BARTLETT — [Uneasily]  Ye'd  best  go  up  with 
Nat,  Sarah.  I've  work  to  do. 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Fixing  her  eyes  on  her  hus 
band]  I  want  to  talk  with  you  alone,  Isaiah. 

BARTLETT — [Grimly — as  if  he  were  accepting  a 
challenge]  As  ye  like,  then. 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Dismissing  NAT  with  a  feeble 
attempt  at  a  smile]  Tell  Sue  I'll  be  comin'  up 
directly,  Nat. 

NAT — [Hesitates  for  a  moment,  looking  from  one 


54  GOLD 

to  the  other  uneasily. ]    All  right,  Ma.     [He  goes 
out.] 

BARTLETT — [Waits  for  NAT  to  get  out  of  hear 
ing.]  Won't  ye  set,  Sarah?  [She  comes  forward 
and  sits  by  the  table.  He  sits  by  the  other  side.'} 

MRS.  BARTI/ETT — [Shuddering  as  she  sees  the 
bottle  on  the  table.]  Will  drinkin*  this  poison  makfe 
you  forget,  Isaiah? 

BARTLETT — [Gruffly.']  I've  naught  to  forget — > 
leastways  naught  that's  in  your  mind.  But  they's 
things  about  the  stubborn  will  o'  woman  I'd  like  to 
forget.  [They  look  at  each  other  across  the  table. 
There  is  a  pause.  Finally  he  cannot  stand  her  accus 
ing  glance.  He  looks  away,  gets  to  his  feet,  walks 
about,  then  sits  down  again,  his  face  set  determinedly 
— with  a  grim  smile.]  Well,  here  we  be,  Sarah — 
alone  together  for  the  first  time  since — 

MRS.    BARTLETT — [Quickly.]     Since   that    nighl 
Isaiah. 

BARTLETT — [As  if  he  hadn't  heard.]   Since  I  coi 
back  to  you,  almost.     Did  ye  ever  stop  to  think  o' 
how  strange  it  be  we'd  ever  come  to  this?     I  nevei 
dreamed  a  day  *d  come  when  ye'd  force  me  to  slee] 
away  from  ye,  alone  in  a  shed  like  a  mangy  dog! 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Gently.]  I  didn't  drive  you 
away,  Isaiah.  You  came  o'  your  own  will. 

BARTLETT — Because  o'  your  naggin*  tongue, 
woman — and  the  wrong  ye  thought  o*  me. 

MRS.    BARTLETT — \ Shaking    her    head,    slowly*] 


GOLD  55 

It  wasn't  me  you  ran  from,  Isaiah.  You  ran  away 
from  your  own  self — the  conscience  God  put  in  you 
that  you  think  you  can  fool  with  lies. 

BARTLETT — [Starting  to  his  feet — angrily. ] 
Lies? 

MRS.  BARTLETT — It's  the  truth,  Isaiah,  only  you 
be  too  weak  to  face  it. 

BARTLETT — [With  defiant  bravado.]  Ye'll  find 
I  be  strong  enough  to  face  anything,  true  or  lie! 
[Then  protestmgly.~\  What  call  have  ye  to  think 
evil  o'  me,  Sarah?  It's  mad  o'  ye  to  hold  me  to  ac 
count  for  things  I  said  in  my  sleep — for  the  damned 
nightmares  that  set  me  talkin'  wild  when  I'd  just 
come  home  and  my  head  was  still  cracked  with  the 
thirst  and  the  sun  I'd  borne  on  that  island.  Is  that 
right,  woman,  to  be  blamin'  me  for  mad  dreams  ? 

MRS.  BARTLETT — You  confessed  the  rest  of  what 
you  said  was  true — of  the  gold  you'd  found  and 
buried  there. 

BARTLETT — [With  a  sudden  fierce  exultation.} 
Aye — that  be  true  as  Bible,  Sarah.  When  I've 
sailed  back  in  the  schooner,  ye'll  see  for  yourself. 
There  be  a  big  chest  o'  it,  yellow  and  heavy,  and 
fixed  up  with  diamonds,  emeralds  and  sech,  that  be 
worth  more,  even,  nor  the  gold.  We'll  be  rich,  Sarah 
— rich  like  I've  always  dreamed  we'd  be!  There'll 
be  silks  and  carriages  for  ye — all  the  woman's  truck 
in  the  world  ye've  a  mind  to  want — and  all  that  Nat 
and  Sue'll  want,  too. 


56  GOLD 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [With  a  shudder. ]  Are  you 
tryin'  to  bribe  me,  Isaiah — with  a  treasure  that's 
been  cursed  by  God? 

BARTLETT — [As  if  he  hadn't  heard.]  D'ye  re 
member  long  ago,  back  East,  just  after  we  was  mar 
ried,  and  I  was  skipper  o*  n^  first  whalin'  ship,  how 
that  foreigner  come  to  me  with  the  map  o'  the 
pirates'  gold  and  asked  me  to  charter  the  ship?  D'ye 
remember  o'  how  I'd  talk  to  ye  o'  findin*  ambergris, 
a  pile  o'  it  on  one  vige  that'd  make  us  rich?  Ye  used 
to  take  interest  then,  and  all  th'  voyage  with  me  ye'd 
be  hopin'  I'd  find  it,  too. 

MRS.  BARTLETT — That  was  my  sin  o*  greed  that 
I'm  bein*  punished  for  now. 

BARTLETT — [Again  as  if  he  hadn't  heard."}  And 
now  when  it's  come  to  us  at  last — bigger  nor  I  ever 
dreamed  on — ye  drive  me  away  from  ye  and  say  it's 
cursed. 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Inexorably, ,]  Cursed  with  the 
blood  o'  the  man  and  boy  ye  murdered ! 

BARTLETT — [In  a  mad  rage.~\  Ye  lie,  woman !  I 
spoke  no  word! 

MRS.  BARTLETT — That's  what  you  kept  repeatin' 
in  your  sleep,  night  after  night  that  first  week  you 
was  home,  till  I  knew  the  truth,  and  could  bear  no 
more.  "I  spoke  no  word!"  you  kept  savin',  as  if 
'twas  your  own  soul  had  you  at  the  bar  of  judg 
ment.  And  "That  cook,  he  didn't  believe  'twas  gold," 
you'd  say,  and  curse  him. 


GOLD  57 

BARTLETT — [Wildly.]  He  was  lyin',  the  thief! 
Lyin'  so's  he  and  the  boy  could  steal  th'  gold.  I  made 
him  own  up  he  was  lyin'.  What  if  it's  all  true,  what 
ye  heard?  Hadn't  we  the  right  to  do  away  with 
two  thieves?  And  we  was  all  mad  with  thirst  and 
sun.  Can  ye  hold  madmen  to  account  for  the  things 
they  do? 

MRS.  BARTLETT — You  wasn't  so  crazed  but  you 
remember. 

BARTLETT — I  remember  I  spoke  no  word,  Sarah — 
as  God's  my  judge! 

MRS.  BARTLETT — But  you  could  have  prevented 
it  with  a  word,  couldn't  you,  Isaiah?  That  heathen 
savage  lives  in  the  fear  of  you.  He'd  not  have  done 
it  if 

BARTLETT — [Gloomily.']  That's  woman's  talk. 
There  be  three  o'  us  can  swear  in  any  court  I  spoke 
no  word. 

MRS.  BARTLETT — What  are  courts?  Can  you 
swear  it  to  yourself?  You  can't,  and  it's  that's 
drivin'  you  mad,  Isaiah.  Oh,  I'd  never  have  believed 
it  of  you  for  all  you  said  in  sleep,  if  it  wasn't  for  the 
way  you  looked  and  acted  out  of  sleep.  I  watched 
you  that  first  week,  Isaiah,  till  the  fear  of  it  had  me 
down  sick.  I  had  to  watch  you,  you  was  so  strange 
and  fearful  to  me.  At  first  I  kept  sayin',  'twas  only 
you  wasn't  rid  o'  the  thirst  and  the  sun  yet.  But 
then,  all  to  once,  God  gave  me  sight,  and  I  saw  'twas 


58  GOLD 

guilt  written  on  your  face,  on  the  queer  stricken  way 
you  acted,  and  guilt  in  your  eyes.  [She  stares  into 
\  them.]  I  see  it  now,  as  I  always  see  it  when  you  look 
at  me.  [She  covers  her  face  with  her  hands  with  a 
sob.-] 

BARTLETT — [His  face  haggard  and  drawn — hope- 
lessly,  as  if  he  were  too  beaten  to  oppose  her  further 
— in  a  hoarse  whisper. ~\  What  would  ye  have  me  do, 
Sarah? 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Taking  her  hands  from  her 
face — her  eyes  lighting  up  with  religious  fervor."] 
Confess  your  sin,  Isaiah!  Confess  to  God  and  men, 
and  make  your  peace  and  take  your  punishment. 
Forget  that  gold  that's  cursed  and  the  voyage  you 
be  settin*  out  on,  and  make  your  peace.  [Passion 
ately.']  I  ask  you  to  do  this  for  my  sake  and  the 
children's,  and  your  own  most  of  all!  I'll  get  down 
on  my  knees,  Isaiah,  and  pray  you  to  do  it,  as  I've 
prayed  to  God  to  send  you  his  grace!  Confess 
and  wash  your  soul  of  the  stain  o'  blood  that's  on 
it.  I  ask  you  that,  Isaiah — and  God  asks  you — to 
make  your  peace  with  Him. 

BARTLETT — [His  face  tortured  by  the  inward 
struggle — as  if  the  word  strangled  him.']  Confess 
and  let  someone  steal  the  gold!  [This  thought  de 
stroys  her  influence  over  him  in  a  second.  His 
obsession  regains  possession  of  him  instantly,  filling 
him  with  rebellious  strength.  He  laughs  harshly.] 
Ye'd  make  an  old  woman  o*  me,  would  ye,  Sarah? — 


GOLD  59 

an  old,  Sunday  go-to-meetin'  woman  sniwelin*  and 
prayin'  to  God  for  pardon!  Pardon  for  what?  Be 
cause  two  sneakin'  thieves  are  dead  and  done  for? 
I  spoke  no  word,  I  tell  ye — but  if  I  had,  I'd  not  re 
pent  it.  What  I've  done  I've  done,  and  I've  never 
asked  pardon  o'  God  or  men  for  ought  I've  done, 
and  never  will.  Confess,  and  give  up  the  gold  I've 
dreamed  of  all  my  life  that  I've  found  at  last!  By 
thunder,  ye  must  think  I'm  crazed! 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Seeming  to  shrivel  up  on  her 
chair  as  she  sees  she  has  lost — weakly. ]  You  be  lost, 
Isaiah — no  one  can  stop  you. 

BARTLETT — [Triumphantly.]  Aye,  none'll  stop 
me.  I'll  go  my  course  alone.  I'm  glad  ye  see  that, 
Sarah. 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Feebly  trying  to  get  to  her 
feet.]  I'll  go  to  home. 

BARTLETT — Ye'll  stay,  Sarah.  Ye've  had  your 
say,  and  I've  listened  to  ye ;  now  I'll  have  mine  and 
ye  listen  to  me.  [MRS.  BARTLETT  sinks  back  in  her 
chair  exhaust edly.  BARTLETT  continues  slowly.] 
The  schooner  sails  at  dawn  on  the  full  tide.  I  ask 
ye  again  and  for  the  last  time,  will  ye  christen  her 
with  your  name  afore  she  sails? 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Firmly.]     No. 

BARTLETT — [Menacingly.]  Take  heed,  Sarah,  o' 
what  ye're  sayin'!  I'm  your  husband  ye've  sworn 
to  obey.  By  right  I  kin  order  ye,  not  ask. 


60  GOLD 

MRS.  BARTLETT — I've  never  refused  in  anything 
that's  right — but  this  be  wicked  wrong. 

BARTLETT — It's  only  your  stubborn  woman's  spite 
makes  ye  refuse.  Ye've  christened  every  ship  I've 
ever  been  skipper  on,  and  it's  brought  me  luck  o*  a 
kind,  though  not  the  luck  I  wanted.  And  we'll 
christen  this  one  with  your  own  name  to  bring  me 
the  luck  I've  always  been  seekin'. 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Resolutely.]    I  won't,  Isaiah. 

BARTLETT — Ye  will,  Sarah,  for  I'll  make  ye.  Ye 
force  me  to  it. 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Agam  trying  to  get  up.]  Is 
this  the  way  you  talk  to  me  who've  been  a  good  wife 
to  you  for  more  than  thirty  years  ? 

BARTLETT — [Commandingly, ]  Wait!  {Threat 
eningly.]  If  ye  don't  christen  her  afore  she  sails, 
I'll  take  Nat  on  the  vige  along  with  me.  [MRS. 
BARTLETT  sinks  back  in  her  chair,  stunned.]  He 
wants  to  go,  ye  know  it.  He's  asked  me  a  hundred 
times.  He  s'spects — 'bout  the  gold — but  he  don't 
know  for  sartin.  But  I'll  tell  him  the  truth  o'  it, 
and  he'll  come  with  me,  unless — 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Looking  at  him  with  terror- 
stricken  eyes — imploringly.]  You  won't  do  that, 
Isaiah?  You  won't  take  Nat  away  from  me  and 
drag  him  into  sin  ?  I  know  he'll  go  if  you  give  him 
the  word,  in  spite  of  what  I  say.  [Pitifully.]  You 
be  only  f  rightenin'  me !  You  can't  be  so  wicked  cruel 
as  that. 


GOLD  61 

BARTLETT — 1*11  do  it,  I  take  my  oath — unless — 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [With  hysterical  anger.]  Then 
I'll  tell  him  myself — of  the  murders  you  did,  and — 

BARTLETT — [Grimly.]  And  I'll  say  'twas  done  in 
fair  fight  to  keep  them  from  stealin'  the  gold!  I'll 
tell  him  your's  is  a  woman's  notion,  and  he'll  believe 
me,  not  you.  He's  his  father's  son,  and  he's  set  to 
go.  Ye  know  it,  Sarah.  [She  -falls  back  in  the  chair 
hopelessly  staring  at  him  with  horrified  eyes.  He 
turns  away  and  adds  after  a  pause.]  So  ye'll  christen 
the  Sarah  Allen  in  the  mornin'  afore  she  sails,  won't 
ye,  Sarah? 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [In  a  terrified  tone.]  Yes — if 
it's  needful  to  save  Nat — and  God'll  forgive  me  when 
He  sees  my  reason.  But  you — Oh,  Isaiah!  [She 
shudders  and  then  breaks  down,  sobbing] 

BARTLETT — [After  a  pause,  turns  to  her  humbly 
as  if  asking  her  forgiveness.]  Ye  mustn't  think  hard 
o'  me  that  I  want  your  name.  It's  because  it's  a 
good  woman's  name,  and  I  know  it'll  bring  luck  to 
our  vige.  I'd  find  it  hard  to  sail  without  it — the  way 
things  be. 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Getting  to  her  feet — in  a  state 
of  feverish  fear  of  him.]  I'm  go  in'  to  home. 

BARTLETT — [Going  to  her.]  I'll  help  ye  to  the 
top  o'  the  hill,  Sarah. 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Shrinking  from  him  in  terror] 
No.  Don't  you  touch  me!  Don't  you  touch  me! 


62  GOLD 

[She  hobbles  quickly  out  of  the  door  in  the  rear, 
looking  back  frightenedly  over  her  shoulder  to  see  if 
he  is  following  as 

[The  Curtain  Fatts] 


ACT  THREE 

SCENE — \Dawn  of  the  following  morning — exterior 
of  the  BARTLETT  home,  showing  the  mam  en 
trance,  facing  left,  toward  the  harbor.  On 
either  side  of  the  door,  two  large  windows,  their 
heavy  green  shutters  tightly  closed.  In  front 
of  the  door,  a  small  porch,  the  roof  supported 
by  four  white  columns.  A  flight  of  three  steps 
goes  up  to  this  porch  from  the  ground.  Two 
paths  lead  to  the  steps  through  the  straggly 
patches  of  grass,  one  around  the  corner  of  the 
house  to  the  rear,  the  other  straight  to  the  left 
to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  where  there  is  a  small 
projecting  iron  platform,  fenced  in  by  a  rail. 
The  top  of  a  steel  ladder  can  be  seen.  This 
ladder  leads  up  the  side  oj  the  cliff  from  the 
shore  below  to  the  platform.  The  edge  of  the 
cliff  extends  from  the  left  corner  front,  half- 
diagonally  back  to  the  right,  rear-center. 

In  the  grey  half-light  of  the  dawn,  HORNE, 
GATES,  and  JIMMY  KANAKA  are  discovered. 
HORNE  is  standing  on  the  steel  platform  looking 
down  at  the  shore  below.  GATES  is  sprawled  on 
the  ground  nearby.  JIMMY  squats  on  his 
63 


64  GOLD 

haunches,  his  eyes  staring  out  to  sea  as  if  he 
were  trying  to  pierce  the  distance  to  the  warm 
islands  of  his  birth.  GATES  wears  dungarees, 
JIMMY  dungaree  pants  and  a  black  jersey; 
HORNE,  the  same  as  in  ACT  Two. 

GATES — [With  sluggish  indifference.]  Ain't  she 
finished  with  it  yet? 

HORNE — [Irritably.]  No,  damn  her!  I  kin  see  'em 
all  together  on  the  wharf  at  the  bow  o'  the  schooner. 
That  old  crow  o'  a  woman  o'  his!  Why  the  hell 
don't  she  christen  her  and  be  done  with  it  and  let 
us  make  sail? 

GATES — [After  a  pause.]  Funny,  ain't  it — his 
orderin'  us  to  come  up  here  and  wait  till  it's  all  done. 

HORNE — [Angrily.]  That's  her  doin',  too.  She 
thinks  we  ain't  good  enough  to  be  where  she  is.  [After 
a  pause.]  But  there's  nothin'  funny  to  me  that  he 
does  no  more.  He's  still  out  o'  his  head,  d'ye  know 
that,  Gates? 

GATES — [Stupidly.]  I  ain't  noticed  nothin' 
diff'rent  'bout  him. 

HORNE — [Scornfully.]  He  axed  me  if  I  ever 
seen  them  two  in  my  sleep — that  cook  and  the  boy 
o*  the  Triton.  Said  he  did  often. 

GATES — [Immediately  protesting  uneasily  as  if  he 
had  been  accused.]  They  was  with  us  in  the  boat 
b'fore  we  fetched  the  island,  that's  all  'bout  'em  I 
remember.  I  was  crazy,  after. 


GOLD  65 

HOENE — [Looking  at  him  with  contempt. ]  So  was 
we  all  crazy,  for  the  matter  o'  that.  I'll  not  call 
ye  a  liar,  Gates,  but — a  hell  o'  a  man  ye  be!  You 
wasn't  so  out  o'  your  head  that  ye  forgot  the  gold, 
was  ye? 

GATES — [His  eyes  glistening. ]  That's  diff'rent. 
Any  man'd  remember  that,  even  if  he  was  crazy. 

HORNE — [With  a  greedy  grin.']  Aye.  That's  the 
one  thing  I  see  in  my  sleep.  [Gloatingly.']  We'll  dig 
it  up  soon  now.  In  three  months  we'd  ought  to  be 
there — an'  then  we'll  be  rich,  by  Christ!  [There  is 
the  faint  sound  of  cries  from  the  beach  below.  HORNE 
starts  and  turns  to  look  down  again.]  They  must  V 
finished  it.  [  GATES  and  JIMMY  come  to  the  edge  to 
look  down.] 

JIMMY — [Suddenly — with  an  eager  childish  curi 
osity.]  That  falla  wife  Captain  she  make  strong 
falla  spell  on  ship,  we  sail  fast,  plenty  good  wind? 

HORNE — [Contemptuously.]  Aye,  that's  as  near 
as  ye'll  come  to  it.  She's  makin'  a  spell.  Ye  stay 
here,  Jimmy,  and  tell  us  when  the  Old  Man  is  comin'. 
[JIMMY  remains  looking  down.  HORNE  motions 
GATES  to  follow  him,  front — then  in  a  low  voice,  dis 
gustedly]  Did  ye  hear  that  damn  fool  nigger? 

GATES — [Grumblingly .]  Why  the  hell  is  the  Old 
Man  givin*  him  a  full  share?  One  piece  o'  it'd  be 
enough  for  a  nigger  like  him. 

HORNE — [Craftily.]    There's  a  way  to  get  rid  o' 


66  GOLD 

him — if  it  comes  to  that.  He  knifed  them  two,  ye 
remember. 

GATES — Aye. 

HORNE — The  two  o'  us  can  take  oath  to  that  in 
any  court. 

GATES — Aye. 

HORNE — [After  a  calculating  look  into  his  com 
panion' s  greedy  eyes — meaningly.']  We're  two  sane 
men,  Gates — and  the  other  two  to  share  is  a  lunatic 
and  a  nigger.  The  skipper's  showed  me  where 
there's  a  copy  o'  his  map  o'  the  island  locked  up 
in  the  cabin — in  case  anything  happens  to  him  I'm  to 
bring  back  the  gold  to  his  woman,  he  says.  [He 
laughs  harshly. ]  Bring  it  back !  Catch  me !  The  fool ! 
I'll  be  open  with  ye,  Gates.  If  I  could  navigate  and 
find  the  island  myself  I  wouldn't  wait  for  a  cracked 
man  to  take  me  there.  No,  be  damned  if  I  would! 
Me  and  you'd  chance  it  alone  someway  or  other. 

GATES— [<7rm7%.]  The  two  o'  us — share  and 
share  alike!  [Then  shaking  his  head  warningly.] 
But  he's  a  hard  man  to  git  the  best  on. 

HORNE — [Grimly.]  And  I  be  a  hard  man,  too. 
And  he's  not  right  in  his  head.  We'll  keep  our 
eyes  peeled  for  a  chance.  Something  may  turn  up 
— and  maybe — 

JIMMY — [Turning  to  them.']  Captain,  he  come. 
[GATES  and  HORNE  separate  hastily.  BARTLETT 
climbs  into  siaht  ujy  the  ladder  to  the  platform.  He 


GOLD  67 

is  breathing  heavily  but  his  expression  is  one  of 
triumphant  exultation.] 

BARTLETT — [Motions  with  his  arms.]  Down  with 
ye  and  git  aboard.  The  schooner's  got  a  name  now 
— a  name  that'll  bring  us  luck.  We'll  sail  on  this 
tide. 

HORNE — Aye — aye,  sir. 

BARTLETT — I  got  to  wait  here  till  they  climb  up 
the  path.  I'll  be  aboard  afore  long.  See  that  ye 
have  her  ready  to  cast  off  by  then. 

HORNE — Aye — aye,  sir.  [ He  and  GATES  disappear 
down  the  ladder.  JIMMY  lingers,  looking  sidewise  at 
his  Captain.] 

BARTLETT — [Noticing  him — gruffly  but  almost 
kindly.]  What  are  ye  waitin'  for? 

JIMMY — [Volubly.]  That  old  falla  wife  belong 
you,  Captain,  she  make  strong  falla  spell  for  wind 
blow  plenty?  She  catch  strong  devil  charm  for 
schooner,  Captain? 

BARTLETT — [Scowling.]  What's  that,  ye  brown 
devil?  [Then  suddenly  laughing  harshly.]  Yes — a 
strong  spell  to  bring  us  luck.  [Roughly.]  Git 
aboard,  ye  dog !  Don't  let  her  find  ye  here  with  me. 
[JIMMY  disappears  hurriedly  down  the  ladder.  BART 
LETT  remains  at  the  edge  looking  down  after  him. 
There  is  a  sound  of  voices  from  the  right  and  pres 
ently  MRS.  BARTLETT,  SUE,  DREW  and  NAT  enter, 
coming  around  the  house  from  the  rear.  NAT  and 
DREW  walk  at  either  side  of  MRS.  BARTLETT,  who  is 


68  GOLD 

in  a  state  of  complete  collapse,  so  that  they  are  prac 
tically  carrying  her.  SUE  follows,  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes.  NAT  keeps  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  his  ex 
pression  -fixed  and  gloomy.  DREW  cas't$  a  glance  of 
angry  indignation  at  the  Captain,  who,  after  one  in 
different  look  at  them,  has  turned  back  to  watch  the 
operations  on  the  schooner  below.'] 

BARTLETT — [As  they  reach  the  steps  of  the  house 
— intent  on  the  work  below — makes  a  megaphone 
of  his  hands  and  shouts  in  stentorian  tones.~\  Look 
lively  there,  Home! 

SUE — [Protestingly.]  Paf 

BARTLETT — [Wheels  about.  When  he  meets  his 
daughter's  eyes  he  controls  his  angry  impatience  and 
speaks  gently. ]  What  d'ye  want,  Sue? 

SUE — [Pointing  to  her  mother  who  is  being 
assisted  through  the  door — her  voice  trembling.] 
You  mustn't  shout.  She's  very  sick. 

BARTLETT — [Dully,  as  if  he  didn't  understand.] 
Sick? 

SUE — [Turning  to  the  door.~\  Wait.  I'll  be  right 
back.  [She  enters  the  house.  As  soon  as  she  is  gone 
all  of  BARTLETT'S  excitement  returns.  He  paces  up 
and  down  with  nervous  impatience.  NAT  comes  out 
of  the  house.] 

NAT — [In  a  tone  of  anxiety.]  Ma  seems  bad.  We 
can't  do  anything.  I'm  going  for  the  doctor.  [As 
his  father  doesn't  seem  to  hear  him — tapping  him  on 
the  shoulder,  his  voice  breaking.]  Why  did  you  make 


GOLD  69 

her  do  it,  Pa?  It  was  too  much  for  her  strength. 
Wouldn't  anyone  else  or  any  other  name  have  done 
just  as  well? 

BARTLETT — [Impatiently.']      No.     It  had  to  be. 

NAT — When  she  spoke  the  words — and  fell  back 
in  a  faint — I  thought  she  was  dead. 

BARTLETT — [Vaguely.'}  Weakness.  She'll  be  all 
right  again  after  a  rest.  [He  draws  NAT'S  attention 
to  the  schooner.]  Smart  lines  on  that  schooner,  boy. 
She'll  sail  hell  bent  in  a  breeze.  I  knowed  what  I  was 
about  when  I  bought  her. 

NAT — [Staring  down  fascinatedly.]  How  long  will 
the  voyage  take? 

BARTLETT — [Preoccupied.]    How  long? 

NAT — [Insinuatingly.]    To  get  to  the  island. 

BARTLETT — Three  months  at  most — with  fair 
luck.  [Exultantly]  And  I'll  have  luck  now! 

NAT — Then  in  six  months  you  may  be  back — 
with  it? 

BARTLETT — Aye,  with —  [Stopping  abruptly, 
turns  and  stares  into  his  son's  eyes — angrily.]  With 
what  ?  What  boy's  foolishness  be  ye  talkin'  ? 

NAT — [Pleading  fiercely.]  I  want  to  go,  Pa! 
There's  no  good  in  my  staying  here  any  more.  I 
can't  think  of  anything  but — Oh,  why  don't  you  be 
fair  and  let  me  sail  with  you ! 

BARTLETT — [Sternly,  to  conceal  his  uneasiness.] 
Keep  clear  o>  this,  boy,  Fve  warned  ye ! 


70  GOLD 

SUE — [Appearing  in  doorway  —  indignantly.] 
Nat!  Haven't  you  gone  for  the  doctor  yet? 

NAT — [Shame-j ~acedly ]    I  forgot. 

SUE — Forgot ! 

NAT — [Starting  off.]  I'm  going,  Sue.  [Then  over 
"his  shoulder]  You  won't  sail  before  I  come  back, 
Pa?  [BARTLETT  does  not  answer.  NAT  stands  mis 
erably  hesitating] 

SUE — Nat!  For  heaven's  sake!  [NAT  hurries  off 
around  the  corner  of  the  house,  rear.  Sue  comes  to 
her  father  who  is  watching  her  with  a  queer,  humble, 
hunted  expression] 

BARTLETT — Well,  Sue? 

SUE — [Her  voice  trembling]  Oh,  Pa,  how  can  you 
do  such  terrible  things.  How  could  you  drag  Ma 
out  of  bed  at  dawn  to  christen  your  old  boat — when 
you  knew  how  sick  she's  been ! 

BARTLETT — [Avoiding  her  eyes]  It's  only  weak 
ness.  She'll  get  well  o'  it  soon. 

SUE — Pa !  How  can  you  say  things  like  that — as 
if  you  didn't  care!  [Accusingly]  The  way  you've 
acted  ever  since  you've  been  home  almost,  anyone 
would  think — you  hated  her ! 

BARTLETT — [  Wincing]    No ! 

SUE — Oh,  Pa,  what  is  it  that  has  come  between 
you?  Can't  you  tell  me?  Can't  I  help  to  set  things 
right  again? 

BARTLETT — [Mumblingly.]    Nothin' — nothin*    ye 


GOLD  71 

kin  help — nor  me.  Keep  clear  o*  it,  Sue.  Danny — 
ye  think  o'  him,  that's  enough  for  ye. 

SUE — But  things  can't  go  on  like  this.  Don't  you 
see  how  it's  killing  Ma? 

BARTLETT — She'll  forget  her  stubborn  notions, 
now  I  be  sailin'  away. 

SUE — But  you're  not — not  going  for  a  while  now, 
are  you? 

BARTLETT — Ain't  I  been  sayin'  I'd  sail  at  dawn 
today?  They're  makin'  her  ready  to  cast  off.  I'm 
waitin'  for  Home  to  hail. 

SUE — [Looking  at  him  for  a  moment  with  shocked 
amazement.}  But — you  can't  mean — right  now! 

BARTLETT — [Keeping  his  face  averted.]  Aye — 
or  we'll  miss  this  tide. 

SUE — [Putting  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  try 
ing  to  look  into  his  face.]  Pa !  You  can't  mean  that! 
[His  face  is  set  with  his  obsessed  determination.  She 
lets  her  hands  fall  with  a  shudder.]  You  can't  be 
as  cruel  as  that !  Why,  I  thought,  of  course,  you'd 
put  off — [Wildly.]  You  have,  haven't  you,  Pa? 
You  did  tell  those  men  you  couldn't  sail  when  you 
saw  how  sick  Ma  was,  didn't  you — when  she  fainted 
down  on  the  wharf? 

BARTLETT — [Implacably.]  I  said  I  was  sailin' 
by  this  tide — and  sail  I  will,  by  thunder! 

SUE — Pa!  [Then  pleadingly.]  When  the  doctor 
comes  and  you  hear  what  he  says — 

BARTLETT — [Roughly.]    I   ain't   stoppin'   on   his 


72  GOLD 

word  nor  any  man's.  I  know  what's  best  to  do.  [In 
tensely.]  That  schooner's  been  fit  to  sail  these  two 
weeks  past.  I  been  waitin'  on  her  stubborn  will  [he 
gestures  toward  the  house] ,  eatin'  my  heart  out  day 
and  night.  Then  I  swore  I'd  sail  today.  I  tell  ye, 
Sue,  I  got  a  feelin'  in  my  bones  if  I  don't  put  out 
now  I  never  will.  Aye,  I  feel  it  deep  down  inside  me. 
[In  a  tone  of  superstitious  awe.~\  And  when  she 
christened  the  schooner — jest  to  the  minute,  mind 
ye ! — a  fair  breeze  sprung  up  and  come  down  out  o' 
the  land  to  blow  her  out  to  sea — like  a  sign  o'  good 
luck. 

SUE — [Aroused  to  angry  indignation.]  What 
kind  of  a  man  have  you  become — to  think  of  such 
things  now !  Oh,  I  can't  believe  you're  the  same  man 
who  used  to  be  my  father! 

BARTL.ETT — Sue ! 

SUE — To  talk  cold-bloodedly  of  sailing  away  on 
a  long  voyage  when  Ma's  inside — dying  for  all  you 
seem  to  know  or  care!  Oh,  I  hate  you  when  you're 
like  this!  You're  not  the  father  I  love!  You've 
changed  into  someone  else — hateful  and  cruel — and 
I  hate  him,  I  hate  him!  [She  breaks  down,  sobbing 
hysterically.] 

BARTLETT — [Who  has  listened  to  her  with  a  face 
suddenly  stricJcen  by  fear  and  torturing  remorse.] 
Sue!  Ye  don't  know  what  ye  be  sayin',  do  ye? 

SUE — I  do !  You're  not  the  same  to  me  any  more 
to  any  of  us.  I'm  afraid  of  you.  And  when 


GOLD  73 

you  coldly  propose  to  go  away — now — I  hate  you, 
yes  I  do !  And  I  hate  those  three  awful  men  who 
make  you  act  this  way.  I  hate  the  schooner !  I  wish 
she  and  they  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea ! 

BAETLETT — [Frenziedly — putting  his  hand  over 
her  mouth  to  stop  her  words.']  Stop,  girl!  Don't  ye 
dare — 

SUE — [Shrinking  away  from  him — f  right  enedly.] 
Pa! 

BARTLETT — [Bewilder  edly,  pleading  for  forgive* 
ness.}  Don't  heed  that,  Sue — I  didn't  mean — ye  git 
me  so  riled — I'd  not  hurt  ye  for  all  the  gold  in  the 
world.  But  don't  ye  talk  wrong  o'  things  ye  can't 
know  on. 

SUE — Oh,  Pa,  what  kind  of  things  must  they  be — 
when  you're  ashamed  to  tell  them ! 

BARTLETT — I  ain't  ashamed.  It  ain't  that.  On'y 
they  be  things  a  girl's  no  call  to  meddle  in.  They 
be  men's  business  and  I  be  man  enough  to  carry  'em 
out  alone.  Ye'll  know  all  they  be  to  know — and 
your  Ma  and  Nat,  too — when  I  come  back  from  this 
vige.  And  the  sooner  I  sail,  the  quicker  I'll  be  back 
to  ye.  Oh,  ye'll  be  glad  enough  then — when  ye  see 
with  your  own  eyes !  Ye'll  bless  me  then  'stead  o' 
turning  agin  me!  [Hesitating  for  a  second — then, 
somberly.}  On'y  now — till  it's  all  over  and  done — 
ye'd  best  keep  clear  o*  it. 

SUE — [Passionately.']  I  don't  care — I  don't  want 
to  know  anything  about  it.  What  I  do  know  is  that 


74  GOLD 

you  can't  sail  now.  Oh,  Pa,  don't  you  see  you  can't? 
Haven't  you  any  heart  at  all?  Can't  you  see  how 
bad  Ma  is? 

BARTLETT — It's  the  sight  o'  me  sickens  her.  She'll 
git  better  with  me  away  from  her. 

SUE — No.  She  needs  you.  She  doesn't  want  you 
to  go.  She  called  your  name  just  a  while  ago — 
the  only  word  she's  spoken  since  she  christened  the 
ship.  Come  in  to  her,  Pa !  Tell  her  you  won't  go ! 

BARTLETT — [Desperately.]  I  got  to  git  away 
from  her,  I  tell  ye,  Sue!  She's  been  houndin'  me 
ever  since  I  got  back — houndin'  me  with  her  stub 
born  tongue  till  she's  druv  me  mad,  a'most !  Ye've 
been  on'y  givin'  thought  to  her,  not  me.  They's 
my  side  to  it,  too! 

SUE — I'll  talk  to  her,  Pa.  She  can't  realize  she's 
hurting  you  or  she  wouldn't — And  then  everything 
will  be  just  the  same  as  it  used  to  be  again. 

BARTLETT — [Shaking  his  head.]  They  be  too 
much  between.  The  only  chance  for  that  be  my 
plan — to  sail  away  and  come  back  with — what  I  be 
seekin'.  Then  she'll  give  over  her  stubborn  naggin' 
— if  she's  human  woman.  It's  for  her  sake  as  much 
as  my  own  I'm  goin' — for  her  and  you  and  Nat. 
[With  a  sudden  return  of  his  old  resolution.]  I've 
made  up  my  mind,  I  tell  ye,  and  in  the  end  ye'll  know 
I  be  right.  [A  hail  in  HORNE'S  voice  comes  thinly  up 
from  the  shore  below.  BARTLETT  starts,  his  eyes 
gleaming.]  Ye  hear?  It's  Home  hailin'  me  to  come. 


GOLD  75 

They  be  ready  to  cast  off.     I'll  git  aboard.     [He 
starts  for  the  ladder.] 

SUE — Pa  !  After  all  I've  said — without  one  word 
of  good-bye  to  Ma!  [Hysterically.]  Oh,  what  can  I 
do,  what  can  I  say  to  stop  you !  She  hasn't  spoken 
but  that  one  call  for  you.  She  hardly  seems  to 
breathe.  If  it  weren't  for  her  eyes  I'd  believe  she 
was  dead — but  her  eyes  look  for  you.  She'll  die 
if  you  go,  Pa ! 

BARTLETT — No ! 

SUE — You  might  just  as  well  kill  her  now  in  cold 
blood  as  murder  her  that  way ! 

BARTLETT — [Shaken — raising  his  hands  as  if  to 
put  them  over  his  ears  to  shut  out  her  words — 
hoarsely.]  No  !  Ye  lie !  She'll  live  till  I  git  back  and 
all'll  be  as  it  was  again ! 

DREW — [Appearing  in  the  doorway,  his  face  work- 
ing  with  grief  and  anger — harshly.]  Captain  Bart- 
lett !  [Then  lowering  his  voice  as  he  sees  Sue.]  Mrs. 
Bartlett  is  asking  to  see  you,  Captain,  before  you  go. 

SUE— There !   Didn't  I  tell  you,  Pa ! 

BARTLETT — [Struggling  with  himself — dully.] 
She's  wantin'  to  hound  me  again,  that  be  all. 

SUE — [Seeing  him  weakening — grasps  his  hand 
persuasively.]  Pa!  Come  with  me.  She  won't  hound 
you.  How  silly  you  are !  Come !  [Hesitatingly,  head 
bowed,  he  follows  her  toward  the  door.] 

BARTLETT — [As  he  comes  to  DREW  he  stops  and 
looks  into  the  young  man's  angry,  accusing  face.  He 


76  GOLD 

mutters  half  mockingly.]    So  ye,  too,  be  agin  me, 
Danny  ? 

DREW — [Unable  to  restrain  his  indignation.] 
What  man  that's  a  real  man  wouldn't  be  against 
you,  sir? 

SUE — [F  right  enedly]    Danny!    Pa! 

BARTLETT — [In  a  sudden  rage  draws  back  his  fist 
threateningly.  DREW  stares  into  his  eyes  unflinch 
ingly — BARTLETT  controls  himself  with  an  effort  and 
lets  his  arm  fall  to  his  side — scornfully]  Big  words 
from  a  boy,  Danny.  I'll  forget  them  this  time — on 
account  o'  Sue.  [He  turns  to  her]  I'm  goin'  in  to 
her  to  please  ye,  Sue — but  if  ye  think  any  words 
that  she  kin  say'll  change  my  mind,  ye  make  a  mis 
take — for  I  be  sailin'  out  as  I  planned  I  would  in 
spite  o'  all  hell !  [He  walks  resolutely  into  the  house. 
SUE  follows  him  after  exchanging  a  hopeless  glance 
with  DANNY.] 

DREW — [To  himself — with  a  shudder]  He's  mad, 
damn  him !  [He  paces  up  and  down.  HORNE  appears 
on  the  ladder  from  below,  followed  by  GATES.] 

HORNE — [Coming  forward  and  addressing  DREW.] 
Is  the  skipper  about? 

DREW — [Curtly]  He's  in  the  house.  You  can't 
speak  to  him  now. 

HORNE — She's  ready  to  cast  off.  I  hailed  him  from 
below  but  I  'spect  he  didn't  hear.  [As  DREW  makes 
no  comment — impatiently]  If  he  don't  shake  a  leg, 
we'll  miss  the  tide.  There's  a  bit  o'  fair  breeze,  too. 


GOLD  77 

DREW — [Glancing  at  him  resentfully.'}  Don't 
count  on  his  sailing  today.  It's  just  as  likely  he'll 
change  his  mind. 

HORNE — [Angrily.]  Change  his  mind  again? 
After  us  waitin'  and  wastin'  time  for  weeks!  [To 
GATES  in  a  loud  tone  so  DREW  can  hear.}  What  did 
I  tell  ye,  Gates?  He's  crazy  as  hell. 

DREW—  [Sharply.]  What's  that? 

HORNE — I  was  tellin'  Gates  the  skipper's  not  right 
in  his  head  [Angrily.]  What  man  in  his  senses  'd  do 
the  way  he  does  ? 

DREW — [Letting  his  resentment  escape  him.] 
That's  no  lie,  damn  it! 

HORNE — [Surprised.]  Aye,  ye've  seen  it,  too,  have 
ye?  [After  a  pause.]  Now  I  axe  ye,  as  a  sailor, 
how'd  ye  like  to  be  puttin'  out  on  a  vige  with  a 
cracked  man  for  skipper?  [SUE  comes  out  of  the 
door,  stops  with  a  shudder  of  disgust  as  she  sees 
the  two  sailors,  and  stands  listening.  They  do  not 
notice  her  presence.] 

DREW — It  seems  to  me  a  crazy  voyage  all  round. 
What  kind  of  trading  is  it  you're  to  do? 

HORNE — [Suspiciously.]  Ye'll  have  to  ask  the 
skipper  that. 

DREW — [With  a  scornful  shrug.]  I  was  forgetting 
it's  such  a  dead  secret.  That  the  craziest  part,  eh? 
[With  sudden  interest  as  if  a  new  idea  had  come 
to  him.]  But  you  know  all  about  it,  don't  you — 


78  GOLD 

what  the  Captain  plans  to  do  on  this  voyage — and 
aU  that? 

HORNE — [Dryly.]  Aye,  as  well  as  himself — but 
I'm  tellin'  no  man. 

DREW — And  I'm  not  asking.  What  do  you  sup 
pose  I  care  about  any  sneaking  trade  deal  in  the 
Islands  he  may  have  up  his  sleeve  ?  What  I  want  to 
find  out  is :  Do  you  know  enough  about  this  busi 
ness  to  make  this  one  voyage  alone  and  attend  to 
everything — in  case  the  Captain  can't  go? 

HORNE — [Exchanging  a  quick  glance  with  Cates 
— trying  to  hide  his  eagerness]  Aye,  I  could  do  as 
well  as  any  man  alive.  I've  been  sailin'  this  sea  for 
twenty  year  or  more  and  I  know  the  Island  trade 
inside  and  out.  He  could  trust  me  for  it — and  I'd 
make  more  money  for  him  than  he's  likely  to  make 
with  his  head  out  o'  gear.  [Then  scowling.'}  On'y 
trouble  is,  who'd  captain  her  if  he  ain't  goin'? 

DREW — [Disappointedly]  Then  you  don't  know 
navigation  enough  for  that? 

HORNE — I've  never  riz  above  bo'sun.  [Then  after 
a  pause  in  which  he  appears  to  be  calculating  some 
thing — curiously.]  Why  d'ye  ask  me  them  questions? 
[Insinuatingly — almost  in  a  whisper.]  It  can't  be 
done  'less  we  got  an  officer  like  you  aboard. 

DREW — [Angrily.]  Eh?  What're  you  driving  at? 
D'you  think  I— 

SUE — [Who  has  been  listening  with  aroused  in 
terest]  Danny!  [She  comes  down  to  him.  HORNE 


GOLD  79 

and  GATES  bob  their  heads  respectfully  and  move 
back  near  the  platform.  HORNE  watches  SUE  and 
DREW  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye]  Danny,  Pve  been 
listening  to  what  you  were  saying,  but  I  don't  under 
stand.  What  are  you  thinking  of? 

DREW [Excitedly.]  I  was  thinking — Listen,  Sue! 
Seems  to  me  from  what  I  saw  your  Pa's  out  of  his 
right  mind,  and,  being  that  way,  he's  sure  bound 
to  go  unless  someone  or  something  steps  in  to  stop 
him.  D'you  think  your  Ma ? 

SUE — [Shaking  her  head — sadly. ,]  No,  I'm  afraid 
anything  she  says  will  only  make  things  worse. 

DREW — Then  you've  no  hope — ?  No  more  have 
I.  Something's  got  to  be  done  to  keep  him  home 
in  spite  of  himself.  Even  leaving  your  Ma  out  of  it, 
he's  not  in  any  fit  state  to  take  a  ship  to  sea;  and 
I  was  thinking  if  we  could  fix  it  some  way  so  that 
fellow  Home  could  take  her  out  on  this  voyage — 

SUE — But,  Danny,  Pa'd  never  give  in  to  that. 

DREW — I  wasn't  thinking  he  would.  It'd  have  to 
be  done  on  the  sly.  We — you'd  have  to  give  the 
word — and  keep  him  in  the  house  somehow — and  then 
when  he  did  come  out  it'd  be  too  late.  The  schooner'd 
be  gone. 

SUE — [Disturbed,  but  showing  that  this  plan  has 
caught  her  mind.~\  But — would  it  be  fair? — he'd 
never  forgive — 

DREW — When  he's  back  in  his  right  mind  again, 
he  would.  [Earnestly.]  I'm  not  fond  of  lying  and 


80  GOLD 

tricks  myself,  Sue,  but  this  is  a  case  where  you  can't 
pick  and  choose.  You  can't  let  him  sail,  and  wreck 
his  ship  and  himself  in  the  bargain,  likely.  Then, 
there's  your  Ma 

SUE — No,  no,  we  can't  let  him.  [With  a  glance  at 
HORNE  and  GATES.]  But  I  don't  trust  those  men. 

DREW — No  more  do  I;  but  it  would  be  better  to 
chance  them  than — [Suddenly  interrupting  himself 
— with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. ]  But  there's  no 
good  talking  of  that.  I  was  forgetting.  None  of 
them  can  navigate.  They  couldn't  take  her  out. 

SUE — But  didn't  I  hear  him  say — if  they  had  an 
officer  on  board — like  you — 

DREW — Yes,  but  where'll  you  find  one  at  a  sec 
ond's  notice? 

SUB — [Meaningly.]  And  you  told  me,  didn't 
you,  that  you'd  just  got  your  master's  papers.  Then 
you're  a  captain  by  rights. 

DREW — [Looking  at  her  with  stunned  astonish 
ment.']  Sue!  D'you  mean — 

SUE — [A  light  coming  over  her  face.]  Oh,  Danny, 
we  could  trust  you!  He'd  trust  you!  And  after 
he'd  calmed  down  I  know  he  wouldn't  mind  so  much. 
Oh,  Danny,  it'll  break  my  heart  to  have  you  go, 
to  send  you  away  just  after  you've  come  back.  But 
I  don't  see  any  other  way.  I  wouldn't  ask — if  it 
wasn't  for  Ma  being  this  way — and  him —  Oh, 
Danny,  can't  you  see  your  way  to  do  it — for  my 
sake? 


GOLD  81 

DREW — [Bewilderedly.]  Why,  Sue,  I — I  never 
thought —  [Then  as  lie  sees  the  look  of  disappoint 
ment  which  comes  over  her  face  at  his  hesitancy — 
resolutely.]  Why  sure,  Sue,  I'll  do  it — if  you  want 
me  to.  I'll  do  it  if  it  can  be  done.  But  we've  got 
to  hustle.  You  stand  in  the  door,  Sue.  You've  got 
to  keep  him  in  the  house  some  way  if  he  aims  to  come 
out.  And  I'll  talk  to  them.  [SUE  goes  to  the  door 
way.  DREW  goes  over  to  HORNE  and  GATES.] 

SUE — [After  listening.]  He's  still  in  with  Ma. 
It's  all  right. 

DREW — [To  HORNE,  with  forced  joviality.] 
How  would  you  like  me  for  skipper  on  this  one 
voyage  ? 

HORNE — [Craftily.]  Ye  got  your  skipper's 
papers  all  reg'lar? 

DREW — Yes,  that  part  of  it's  all  right  and  square. 
Listen  here.  Miss  Sue's  decided  her  father  isn't  in  a 
fit  state  to  captain  this  trip.  It'd  mean  danger  for 
him  and  the  schooner — and  for  you. 

HORNE — That's  no  lie. 

GATES — [To  HORNE  protestingly.]  But  if  we  git 
ketched  the  Old  Man'll  take  it  out  o'  our  hides,  not 
his'n. 

HORNE — [Savagely.]  Shut  up,  ye  fool!  [To 
DREW,  craftily.]  Gates  is  right,  jest  the  same.  Ye 
are  as  good  as  his  married  son  and  she's  his  daugh 
ter.  He'd  not  blame  you  if  things  went  wrong. 
He'd  take  it  out  on  us. 


82  GOLD 

DREW — [Impatiently.]  I'll  shoulder  all  that  risk, 
man! 

SUE — [Earnestly.]  No  harm  will  come  to  any  of 
you,  I  promise  you.  This  is  all  my  plan,  and  I'll 
tell  my  father  I'm  alone  to  blame. 

HORNE — [In  the  tone  of  one  clinching  a  bargain.] 
Then  we'll  chance  it.  [Warningly.]  But  it's  got 
to  be  done  smart,  sir.  Ye'd  best  look  lively. 

DREW — I've  got  to  get  my  dunnage.  I'll  be  right 
back  and  we'll  tumble  aboard.  [He  goes  to  the 
door.]  Hold  him,  Sue,  on  some  excuse  if  he's  coming. 
Only  a  second  now  and  it'll  all  be  safe.  [He  goes  into 
the  house.  She  follows  him  in.] 

GATES — [With  stupid  anger.]  This  is  a  hell  o'  a 
mess  we're  gettin'  in,  if  ye  axe  me. 

HORNE — And  I  tell  ye  it's  a  great  stroke  o'  luck. 
It  couldn't  o*  come  out  better. 

GATES — He'll  be  aboard  to  spy  on  us. 

HORNE — Let  him !  What  does  he  know?  He  thinks 
we're  goin'  tradin',  and  there's  no  one  to  tell  him 
difPrent  but  me. 

GATES — He'll  know  better  afore  long.  He'll 
s'pect — 

HORNE— 'Bout  the  gold?  He  ain't  that  kind.  He's 
a  soft  }Toung  swab  o'  a  lady  steamer's  mate.  Leave 
me  to  fool  him.  And  when  the  time  comes  to  git  rid 
o'  him,  I'll  find  a  means  some  way  or  other.  But 
can't  ye  see,  ye  fool,  it's  luck  to  have  him  with  us 
till  we  git  clear  o'  civilized  ports?  He  kin  navigate 


GOLD  83 

and  he's  got  skipper's  papers  that'll  come  in  handy 
if  there's  any  trouble.  And  if  anythin'  goes  wrong 
at  the  start  and  we're  brung  back,  him  and  the  girl'll 
take  the  blame. 

GATES — [Stupidly.]  S'long  as  he  don't  git  no 
share  o'  the  gold 

HORNE — [Contemptuously.]  Share,  ye  dumbhead.1 
I'd  see  him  in  hell  first — and  send  him  there  myself. 
[DREW  comes  out  of  the  house  carrying  his  bag  which 
he  hands  to  GATES.  SUE  follows  him.] 

DREW — Look  lively  now !  Let's  hustle  aboard  and 
get  her  under  way. 

HORNE — Aye — aye,  sir.  [He  and  GATES  clamber 
hurriedly  down  the  ladder.] 

SUE — [Throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck  and 
kissing  him.]  Good-bye,  Danny.  It's  so  fine  of  you 
to  do  this  for  us !  I'll  never  forget 

DREW — [Tenderly.]    Ssssh!   It's  nothing,  Sue. 

SUE — [Tearfully.]  Oh,  Danny,  I  hope  I'm  doing 
right !  I'l  miss  you  so  dreadfully !  But  you'll  come 
back  just  as  soon  as  you  can — 

DREW — Of  course ! 

SUE — Danny!  Danny!   I  love  you  so! 

DREW — And  I  guess  you  know  I  love  you,  don't 
you?  [Kisses  her.]  And  we'll  be  married  when  I 
come  back  this  time  sure? 

SUE — Yes — yes — Danny — sure ! 

DREW — I've  got  to  run.    Good-bye,  Sue. 

SUE — Good-bye,  dear.   [They  kiss  for  the  last  time 


84  GOLD 

and  lie  disappears  down  the  ladder.  She  stands  at 
the  top,  sobbing,  following  him  with  her  eyes.  NAT 
comes  around  the  house  from  the  rear  and  goes  to 
the  front  door.] 

NAT — [Seeing  his  sister.']  Sue!  He  hasn't  gone 
yet,  has  he?  [She  doesn't  hear  him.  He  hesitates  in 
the  doorway  for  a  moment,  listening  for  the  sound  of 
his  father's  voice  from  inside.  Then,  very  careful  to 
make  no  noise,  he  tiptoes  carefully  into  the  house. 
SUE  waves  her  hand  to  DREW  who  has  evidently  now 
got  aboard  the  ship.  Then  she  covers  her  face  with 
her  hands,  sobbing.  NAT  comes  out  of  the  house 
again  and  goes  to  his  sister.  As  she  sees  him  ap 
proaching,  she  dries  her  eyes  hastily,  trying  to 
smile.'} 

SUE — Did  you  get  the  doctor,  Nat? 

NAT — Yes,  he's  coming  right  away,  he  promised. 
[Looking  at  her  face.~\  What — have  you  been 
crying? 

SUE — No.  [She  walks  away  from  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  drawing  him  with  her.] 

NAT — Yes,  you  have.   Look  at  your  eyes. 

SUE — Oh,  Nat,  everything's  so  awful !  [She  breaks 
down  again.] 

NAT — [Trying  to  comfort  her  in  an  absent- 
Blinded  way]  There,  don't  get  worked  up.  Ma'll  be 
all  right  as  soon  as  the  doctor  comes.  [Then 
curiously]  Pa's  inside  with  her.  They  were  arguing 
— have  they  made  it  up,  d'you  think? 


GOLD  85 

SUE — Oh,  Nat,  I  don't  know.    I  don't  think  so. 

NAT — The  strain's  been  too  much  for  him — wait 
ing  and  hiding  his  secret  from  all  of  us.  What  do 
you  suppose  it  is,  Sue — ambergris? 

SUE — [Wildly.]  I  don't  know  and  I  don't  care! 
[Noticing  the  strange  preoccupied  look  in  his  eyes 
— trying  to  bring  him  back  to  earth — scornfully.'] 
Ambergris!  Are  you  going  crazy?  Don't  you  re 
member  you've  always  been  the  first  one  to  laugh  at 
that  silly  idea? 

NAT — Well,  there's  something \_Starts  for 

the  platform.  SUE  does  her  best  to  interpose  to  hold 
him  back.]  Are  they  all  ready  on  the  schooner. 
He'll  have  to  hurry  if  she's  going  to  sail  on  this  tide. 
[  With  sudden  passion.  ]  Oh,  I've  got  to  go  !  I  can't 
stay  here!  [Pleadingly]  Don't  you  think,  Sue,  if 
you  were  to  ask  him  for  me  he'd — You're  the  only 
one  he  seems  to  act  sane  with  or  care  about  any 
more. 

SUE — No!     I  won't!     I  can't! 

NAT — [Angrily]  Haven't  you  any  sense? 
Wouldn't  it  be  better  for  everyone  if  I  went  in  his 
place? 

SUE — No.  You  know  that's  a  lie.  Ma  would  lose 
her  mind  if  you  went. 

NAT — And  I'll  lose  mine  if  I  stay!  [Half  aware 
of  SUE'S  intention  to  keep  him  from  looking  down  at 
the  schooner — irritably]  What  are  you  holding 
my  arm  for,  Sue?  I  want  to  see  what  they're  doing. 


86  GOLD 

[He  pushes  her  aside  and  goes  to  the  platform — ex 
citedly.]  Hello,  they've  got  the  fores'l  and  mains'l 
set.  They're  setting  the  stays'l.  [In  amazement] 
Why — they're  casting  off!  She's  moving  away  from 
the  wharf!  [More  and  more  excitedly]  I  see  four 
of  them  on  board!  Who — who  is  that,  Sue? 

SUE— It's  Danny. 

NAT — [Furiously]  Danny!  What  right  has  he 
—when  I  can't !  Sue,  call  Pa !  They're  sailing,  I 
tell  you,  you  little  fool! 

SUE — [Trying  to  calm  him — her  voice  trem 
bling.]  Nat!  Don't  be  such  a  donkey!  Danny's 
only  going  a  little  way — just  trying  the  boat  to  see 
how  she  sails  while  they're  waiting  for  Pa. 

NAT — [Uncertainly]  Oh.  [Then  bitterly]  I 
was  never  allowed  to  do  even  that — his  own  son! 
Look,  Sue,  that  must  be  Danny  at  the  stern  waving. 

SUE — [Brokenly]  Yes.  [She  waves  her  hand 
kerchief  over  her  head — then  breaks  down,  sobbing 
again.  There  is  the  noise  of  BARTLETT'S  voice  from 
inside  and  a  moment  later  he  appears  in  the  door 
way.  He  seems  terribly  shattered,  at  the  end  of  his 
tether.  He  hesitates  uncertainly,  looking  about  him 
wildly  as  if  he  didn't  know  what  to  do  or  where  to 

go] 

SUE — [After  one  look  at  his  face,  runs  to  him 
and  flings  her  arms  about  his  neck]  Pa !  [She 
weeps  on  his  shoulder] 

BARTLETT — Sue,  ye  did  wrong  beggin'  me  to  see 


GOLD  87 

her.  I  knowed  it'd  do  no  good.  Ye  promised  she'd 

not  hound  me "Confess,"  she  says — when  they 

be  naught  to  tell  that  couldn't  be  swore  to  in  any 
court.  "Don't  go  on  this  vige,"  she  says,  "there  be 
the  curse  o'  God  on  it."  [With  a  note  of  baffled  an 
guish.]  She  kin  say  that  after  givin'  the  ship  her 
own  name!  [With  wild,  haggard  defiance.]  But 
curse  or  no  curse,  I  be  goin'!  [He  moves  toward 
the  platform,  SUE  clinging  to  his  arm.~\ 

SUE — [F 'right enedly.]  Pa!  Go  back  in  the 
house,  won't  you  ? 

BARTLETT — I  be  sorry  to  go  agin  your  will,  Sue, 
but  it's  got  to  be.  Ye'll  know  the  reason  some  day 
— and  be  glad  o'  it.  And  now  good-bye  to  ye. 
[With  a  sudden  strange  tenderness  he  bends  and 
kisses  his  daughter.  Then  as  she  seems  about  to 
protest  further,  his  expression  becomes  stern  and  in 
flexible.]  No  more  o'  talk,  Sue !  I  be  bound  out. 
[He  takes  her  hand  off  his  arm  and  strides  to  the 
platform.  One  look  down  at  the  harbor  and  he 
stands  transfixed — in  a  hoarse  whisper.]  What 
damned  trick  be  this?  [He  points  to  the  schooner 
and  turns  to  NAT  bewilderedly .]  Ain't  that  my 
schooner,  boy — the  Sarah  Allen — reachin'  toward 
the  p'int? 

NAT — [Surprised.]  Yes,  certainly.  Didn't  you 
know?  Danny's  trying  her  to  see  how  she  sails 
while  they're  waiting  for  you. 

BARTLETT — [With  a  tremendous  sigh  of  relief.] 


88  GOLD 

Aye.  [Then  angrily.]  He  takes  a  lot  o'  rope  to 
himself  without  askin'  leave  o'  me.  Don't  he  know 
they's  no  time  to  waste  on  boy's  foolin'?  [Then  with 
admiration.]  She  sails  smart,  don't  she,  boy?  I 
knowed  she'd  show  a  pair  o'  heels. 

NAT — [With  enthusiasm.]  Yes,  she's  a  daisy! 
Say,  Danny's  taking  her  pretty  far  out,  isn't  he? 

BARTLETT — [Anxiously.]  He'd  ought  to  come 
about  now  if  he's  to  tack  back  inside  the  p'int. 
[Furiously.]  Come  about,  damn  ye!  The  swab! 
That's  what  comes  o'  steamer  trainin'.  I'd  sooner 
trust  Sue  to  sail  her  nor  him.  [Waves  his  arm  and 
shouts.]  Come  about ! 

NAT — [Bitterly.]  He  seems  to  be  heading  straight 
for  the  open  sea.  He's  taking  quite  a  sail,  it  seems 
to  me. 

BARTLETT — [As  if  he  couldn't  believe  his  eyes.] 
He's  passed  the  p'int — and  now — headin'  her  out  to 
sea — so'east  by  east.  By  God,  that  be  the  course 
I  charted  for  her!  [SUE  bursts  out  sobbing.  He 
wheels  on  her,  his  mouth  fallen  open,  his  face  full  of 
a  stupid  despair.]  They  be  somethin'  wrong  here. 
What  be  it,  Sue?  What  be  it,  Nat?  [His  voice  has 
begun  to  quiver  with  passion.]  That  schooner — 

she's  sailin'  without  me [He  suddenly  springs 

at  NAT  and  grabs  him  by  the  throat — with  hoarse 
fury,  shaking  him.]  What  be  it,  ye  whelp?  It's 
your  doin' — because  I  wouldn't  let  ye  go.  Answer 
me! 


GOLD  89 

SUE — [Rushing  to  them  with  a  scream.]  Pa! 
[She  tugs  frantically  at  his  hands.  BARTLETT  lets 
them  fall  to  his  side,  stepping  back  from  NAT  who 
sinks  weakly  to  the  ground,  gasping  for  breath. 
BARTLETT  stands  looking  at  him  wildly.] 

SUE— Nat  didn't  know,  Pa.  It's  all  my  fault.  I 
had  to  do  it.  There  was  no  other  way 

BARTLETT — [Raging. ]  What  d'ye  mean,  girl? 
What  is  it  ye've  done  ?  Tell  me,  I  say !  Tell  me  or 
I'll— 

SUE — [Unflinchingly.]  You  had  to  be  stopped 
from  going  someway.  You  wouldn't  listen  to  reason. 
So  I  asked  Danny  if  he  wouldn't  make  the  trip  in 
your  place.  He's  just  got  his  captain's  papers — 
and  oh,  Pa,  you  can  trust  him,  you  know  that !  That 
man  Home  said  he  knows  about  everything  you 
wanted  done,  and  he  promised  to  tell  Danny,  and 
Danny'll  come  back 

BARTLETT — [Chokingly.]  So — that  be  it 

[Shaking  his  clenched  fist  at  the  sky  as  if  visualiz 
ing  the  fate  he  feels  in  all  of  this]  Curse  ye !  Curse 
ye!  [He  subsides  weakly,  his  strength  spent,  his 
hand  falls  limply  at  his  side.] 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Appears  in  the  doorway.  Her 
face  is  pale  with  anguish.  She  gives  a  cry  of  joy 
when  she  sees  her  son.]  Nat !  [Then  with  a  start 
of  horror  as  her  eyes  fall  on  her  husband.]  Isaiah! 
[He  doesn't  seem  to  hear.]  Then — you  ain't  sailed 
jet? 


90  GOLD 

SUE — [Going  to  her — gently. ]  No,  Ma,  he  isn't 
going  to  sail.  He's  going  to  stay  home  with  you. 
But  the  schooner's  gone.  See.  [She  points  and  her 
mother's  eyes  turn  seaward.] 

BARTLETT — [Aloud  to  himself — in  a  tone  of  grop 
ing  superstitious  awe  and  bewildered  fear.]  They 
be  somethin'  queer — somethin'  wrong — they  be  a 
curse  in  this  somewhere 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Turning  accusing  eyes  on  him 
— with  a  sort  of  fanatical  triumph.]  I'm  glad  to 
hear  you  confess  that,  Isaiah.  Yes,  there  be  a  curse 
— God's  curse  on  the  wicked  sinfulness  o'  men — and 
I  thank  God  He's  saved  you  from  the  evil  of  that 
voyage,  and  I'll  pray  Him  to  visit  His  punishment 
and  His  curse  on  them  three  men  on  that  craft  you 
forced  me  to  give  my  name —  [She  has  raised 

her  hand  as  if  calling  down  retribution  on  the 
schooner  she  can  dimly  see] 

SUE— [Terrified]     Ma ! 

BARTLETT — [Starting  toward  his  wife  with  an  in 
sane  yell  of  fury]  Stop  it,  I  tell  ye!  [He  towers 
over  her  with  upraised  fist  as  if  to  crush  her] 

SUE — Pa ! 

NAT — [Starting  to  his  feet  from  where  he  has 
been  sitting  on  the  ground — hoarsely]  Pa !  For 
God's  sake ! 

MRS.  BARTLETT — [Gives  a  weak,  frightened 
gasp]  Would  you  murder  me  too,  Isaiah?  [She 
closes  her  eyes  and  collapses  in  SUE'S  arms] 


GOLD  91 

SUE — [Tremblingly.]  Nat!  Help  me!  Quick! 
We  must  carry  her  to  bed.  [They  take  their  mother 
in  their  arms,  carrying  her  inside  the  house.'] 

BARTLETT — [While  they  are  doing  this,  rushes  In 
his  mad  frenzy  to  the  platform  over  the  edge  of  the 
cliff.  He  puts  his  hands  to  his  mouth,  megaphone- 
fashion,  and  yells  with  despairing  rage.~\  Ahoy! 
Ahoy!  Sarah  Allen!  Put  back!  Put  back!  [as 

[The  Curtain  Falls] 


ACT  FOUR 

SCENE — About  nine  o'clock  of  a  moonlight  night 
one  year  later — CAPTAIN  BARTLETT'S  "cabin," 
a  room  erected  on  the  top  of  his  house  as  a 
lookout  post.  The  interior  is  fitted  up  like  the 
cabin  of  a  sailing  vessel.  On  the  left,  forward, 
a  porthole.  Farther  back,  the  stairs  of  the  com- 
panionway.  Still  farther,  two  more  portholes. 
In  the  rear,  left,  a  marble-topped  sideboard.  In 
the  rear,  center,  a  door  opening  on  stairs  which 
lead  to  the  lower  house.  A  cot  with  a  blanket 
is  placed  against  the  wall  to  the  right  of  door. 
In  the  right  wall,  five  portholes.  Directly  under 
them,  a  wooden  bench.  In  front  of  the  bench,  a 
long  table  with  two  chairs  placed,  one  in  front, 
one  to  the  left  of  it.  A  cheap,  dark-colored  rug 
is  on  the  floor.  In  the  ceiling,  midway  from 
front  to  rear,  a  skylight  extending  from  oppo 
site  the  door  to  above  the  left  edge  of  the  table. 
In  the  right  extremity  of  the  skylight  is  placed 
a  floating  ship's  compass.  The  light  from  the 
binnacle  sheds  down  over  this  and  seeps  into  the 
room,  casting  a  vague  globular  shadow  of  the 
92 


GOLD  93 

compass  on  the  floor.  Moonlight  creeps  m 
through  the  portholes  on  the  right.  A  lighted 
lantern  is  on  the  table. 

As  the  curtain  rises,  SUE  and  DOCTOR  BERRY 
are  discovered  sitting  by  the  table.  The  doctor 
is  a  man  of  sixty  or  so,  hale  and  hearty-looking, 
his  white  hair  and  mustache  setting  off  his 
ruddy  complexion.  His  blue  eyes  have  a  gentle 
expression,  his  smile  is  kindly  and  sympathetic. 
His  whole  manner  toward  SUE  is  that  of  the  old 
family  doctor  and  friend,  not  the  least  of  whose 
duties  is  to  play  father-confessor  to  his  patients. 
She  is  dressed  in  deep  mourning.  She  looks  much 
older.  Her  face  is  pale  and  plainly  marked  by 
the  ravages  of  suffering  and  grief.  But  there  is 
an  excited  elation  in  her  face  at  present,  her 
eyes  are  alight  with  some  unexpected  joy. 

SUE — [Excitedly.  ]  And  here  is  Danny's  letter, 
Doctor — to  prove  it's  all  true.  [She  takes  a  letter 
from  the  bosom  of  her  dress  and  holds  it  out  to  him.~\ 

DOCTOR — [Takes  it  with  a  smile,  patting  her 
hand.]  I  can't  say  how  glad  I  am,  Susan.  Coming 
after  we'd  all  given  him  up  for  lost — it's  like  a  mira 
cle.  Eh,  well,  I  can  hardly  believe 

SUE — [Smiling  happily.]  Read  what  he  says. 
Then  you  won't  doubt. 

DOCTOR — [Hesitating — playfully.']  I  don't  know 
that  it's  right  for  me — love  letters  at  my  age  t 


94  GOLD 

SUE — Go  ahead.  I  want  you  to  read  it.  [He 
reaches  in  Ms  pocket  for  his  spectacles.  SUE  con 
tinues  gratefully.']  As  if  I  could  have  any  secrets 
from  you  after  all  you've  done  for  us  since  Ma  died. 

You've  been  the  only  friend [She  stops,  her 

lips  trembling.'] 

DOCTOR — Tut-tut.  [He  adjusts  his  spectacles 
and  peers  at  her  over  them.]  Who  wouldn't  be  of  all 
the  service  he  could  to  a  brave  girl  like  you — and 
I  who've  known  you  since  you  were  so  high!  Eh, 
well,  my  dear  girl,  this  past  year — with  your 
mother's  death — the  state  your  father's  in — and 
then  the  news  of  the  schooner  being  reported  lost — 
one  damn  thing  on  top  of  another!  You've  borne 
the  whole  brunt  of  it  on  your  shoulders  and  stood  up 
like  a  major.  I'll  tell  Danny  when  he  comes  he 
ought  to  get  down  on  his  knees  and  thank  God  for 
getting  such  a  wife! 

SUE — [Flushing.  ]  You're  too  good.  I  don't  de 
serve  it.  It  was  just  a  case  where  someone  had  to 
carry  things  on. 

DOCTOR — Not  many  could  have  stood  it — living 
in  this  house  with  him  the  way  he  is — even  if  he  was 
their  father. 

SUE — [Glancing  up  at  the  skylight — apprehen 
sively.]  Ssshh!  He  might  hear  you. 

DOCTOR — [Listening  intently.]  Not  him.  There 
he  goes  pacing  up  and  down  up  there  in  the  night, 
looking  out  to  sea  for  that  ship  that  will  never  come 


GOLD  95 

back !  And  your  brother  Nat  is  getting  just  as  bad. 
[Shaking  himself. ]  Brrr!  This  house  of  mad 
dreams  !  It's  the  crowning  wonder  to  me  you  haven't 
lost  your  balance  too — spending  nearly  all  of  your 
time  in  this  crazy  cabin — afraid  to  go  out — afraid 
of  what  he  might  do 

SUE — Don't  you  think  Pa'll  come  to  realize  the 
schooner  is  lost  as  time  goes  by  and  she  doesn't  come 
back  ? 

DOCTOR — If  he  was  going  to  realize  that,  the  re 
port  of  the  facts  five  months  ago  would  have  con 
vinced  him.  There  it  was,  plain  as  the  nose  on  your 
face.  British  freighter  reports  finding  derelict 
schooner.  Steams  near  enough  to  read  the  name  on 
the  stern — Sarah  Allen,  Harborport.  Well,  who 
could  get  around  that  evidence  except  a  man  with 
an  obsession?  No,  your  father  won't  let  himself 
look  the  facts  in  the  face.  If  he  did,  probably  the 
shock  of  it  would  kill  him.  That  darn  dream  of  his 
has  become  his  life.  No,  Susan,  as  time  goes  on  he'll 
believe  in  it  harder  and  harder.  After  observing 
him  for  the  past  year — and  I  speak  for  his  own  sake, 
too,  as  his  good  friend  for  twenty  years  or  more — 
my  final  advice  is  the  same :  Send  him  to  an  asylum. 

SUE — [With  a  shudder.']     No,  Doctor. 

DOCTOR — [Shaking  his  head.]  You'll  have  to 
come  to  it  in  time.  He's  getting  worse.  No  one  can 
tell — he  might  get  violent 

SUE — How  can  you  say  that?     You  know  how 


96  GOLD 

gentle  and  sane  he  is  with  me — just  like  he  used  to 
be  in  the  old  days. 

DOCTOR — You're  his  last  connecting  link  with 
things  as  they  are — but  that  can't  last.  On  the 
other  hand,  I  think  that  if  we  got  him  away  from 
the  sea,  from  this  house,  especially  from  this  crazy 
cabin  and  the  ship's  deck  he  had  built  up  there — 
[He  nods  upward.'] — that  perhaps 

SUE — [With  conviction.']  No.  It  would  kill  him 
to  leave  it. 

DOCTOR — Eh,  well,  my  dear,  one  thing  you've  got 
to  realize :  Your  father  and  Nat  must  be  separated 
somehow.  Nat's  going  to  pieces.  He's  lost  his 
job,  he  moons  about  this  house,  he  takes  no  interest 
in  anything  but  this  craziness.  I'll  bet  he  doesn't 
believe  that  schooner  is  lost  any  more  than  your 
father  does. 

SUE — You  mean  he  still  hopes  it  may  not  be  true. 
That's  only  natural.  He's  in  San  Francisco  now 
tracing  down  the  report  again.  He  saw  in  the  pa 
pers  where  the  British  freighter  that  found  the  dere 
lict  was  in  port  again  and  he  went  to  talk  with  the 
people  on  board.  I'm  hoping  he'll  come  back  fully, 
convinced,  with  the  whole  thing  out  of  his  mind. 

DOCTOR — [Shaking  his  head — gravely.']  I've 

watched  him  and  talked  with  him Why,  even 

your  father  seems  to  realize,  in  his  twisted  way,  that 
he  has  a  bad  effect  on  Nat. 


GOLD  97 

SUE — Yes,  as  I've  told  you  before,  he  hasn't 
spoken  to  Nat  alone  since  the  schooner  sailed  a  year 
ago.  And  Nat  sneaks  about  trying  to  spy  on  him 
— and  I  have  to  be  always  on  the  watch  to  keep  them 
apart It's  terrible. 

DocTOR^-You've  got  to  persuade  Nat  to  go  away, 
Susan. 

SUE — He  won't  heed  me — but  I  was  thinking  that 
now  Danny  is  coming  back,  I'd  get  him 

DOCTOR — There's  another  thing.  You  can't  con 
tinue  to  play  slave  to  these  two  after  you're  married. 

SUE — [Miserably.]  We'll  have  to  wait  a  while 
longer 

DOCTOR — [Roughly.]  Rats!  You  can't  sacri 
fice  any  more  of  your  life  and  Danny's  to  mad 
dreams. 

SUE — [Helplessly.]  I  don't  know [Then 

brightening.]  That'll  all  be  decided  when  the  time 
comes.  Just  now  it's  enough  to  know  Danny's  alive 
and  coming  back.  Read  his  letter,  Doctor.  You've 
been  holding  it  in  your  hand  all  this  time. 

DOCTOR — Yes,  yes,  let's  see.  [He  takes  the  letter 
from  the  envelope.] 

SUE — Poor  Danny!  He's  been  through  terrible 
things. 

DOCTOR — Hmm !     Rangoon. 

SUE — Yes,  he's  still  in  the  hospital  there.  You'll 
see. 

DOCTOR — [Reads  the  letter — grwnts  with  aston- 


98  GOLD 

ishment — angrily.]    By  Gad!   The  damn  scoundrels! 

SUE — [Shuddering.]  Yes,  wasn't  it  hideous — 
those  awful  men  stabbing  him  and  leaving  him  for 
dead  in  that  out  of  the  way  native  settlement !  The 
natives  nursed  him  back  to  life,  have  you  got  that 
far  yet?  And  then  he  was  laid  up  for  four  months 
there  waiting  for  a  vessel  to  touch  and  take  him 
back  to  civilization.  And  then,  think  of  it,  getting 
the  fever  on  top  of  all  that  and  nearly  dying  in  the 
hospital  in  Rangoon! 

DOCTOR — A  terrible  time  of  it !  He's  lucky  to  be 
alive.  Hmm.  I  see  he  foresaw  the  wreck  of  the 
schooner.  Those  brutes  couldn't  navigate.  [Fold 
ing  the  letter  and  putting  it  back.]  He  doesn't  seem 
to  have  found  out  what  the  purpose  of  that  mad  trip 
was.  Home  hid  it  from  him  to  the  last,  he  says. 
Well,  it's  queer — damn  queer.  But  I'm  glad  to  know 
those  wretches  have  gone  to  their  final  accounting. 

SUE — [With  a  shudder.]  I  was  always  afraid  of 
them.  They  looked  like — murderers.  [At  a  noise 
from  below  they  both  start.  Steps  can  be  heard 
climbing  the  stairs.  SUE  jumps  to  her  feet  fright- 
enedly.]  Why — do  you  hear — who  can  that  be? 
[There  is  a  soft  rap  on  the  door.  The  Doctor  jumps 
to  his  feet.  SUE  turns  to  him  with  a  half -hysterical 
laugh.]  Shall  I  open?  I  don't  know  why — but  I'm 
afraid. 

DOCTOR — Tut-tut !  I'll  see  who  it  is.  [He  opens 
the  door  and  NAT  is  discovered  on  the  stairs  out- 


GOLD  99 

side.]  Why  hello,  boy.  You  gave  us  a  scare.  Susan 
thought  it  was  a  ghost  knocking. 

NAT — [Comes  into  the  room.  He  has  aged,  grown 
thin,  his  face  gaunt  and  drawn  from  continual  men 
tal  strain,  his  eyes  moody  and  preoccupied.  He 
glances  up  at  the  skylight  apprehensively,  then  turns 

to   SUE.]      I  didn't  find  you  downstairs   so   I 

[Then  to  the  Doctor.']  Yes,  you  do  grow  to  look 
for  ghosts  in  this  house,  don't  you?  [Again  glanc 
ing  upward.]  He's  up  there  as  usual,  I  suppose — 
looking  for  a  ship  that'll  never,  never  come  now! 

DOCTOR — [With  a  grunt  of  approval.]  I'm  glad 
to  hear  you  acknowledge  that. 

SUE — [Who  is  just  recovering  from  her  fright.] 

But,  Nat,  I  didn't  expect  you Did  you  find 

out ? 

NAT — Yes,  I  talked  with  several  of  the  men  who 
were  on  board  at  the  time.  They  said  they  steamed 
tn  so  close  to  the  schooner  it  was  easy  to  read  the 
name  with  the  naked  eye.  All  agreed — Sarah  Allen, 
Harborport.  They  even  remembered  how  her  taf rail 
was  painted.  There's  no  chance  for  mistake.  The 
Sarah  Allen  is  gone.  [With  great  emphasis.]  And 
I'm  glad — damn  glad!  I  feel  as  if  a  weight  of  lead 
had  been  taken  off  my  brain.  I  feel  free  again,  and 
I  can  go  back  to  work — but  not  here.  I've  got  to  go 
away — start  new  altogether. 
SUE — [Happily,  coming  and  putting  her  arms 


100  GOLD 

around  him.]  It's  so  good  to  hear  you  talk  like 
your  old  self  again. 

DOCTOR — [Earnestly.']  Yes,  Nat,  by  Gad,  that's 
sound  sense.  Get  out  of  this. 

NAT — [Giving  him  a  queer  look.]  I  suppose  you 
thought  I  was  doomed,  eh? — like  him.  [He  makes 
a  motion  upward — then  with  an  uncertain  laugh.] 
A  doctor's  always  looking  for  trouble  where  there 
isn't  any.  [In  a  tone  of  finality.]  Well,  it's  all 
over,  anyway. 

SUE — [Snatching  the  letter  from  the  table.]  Oh, 
I  was  forgetting,  Nat.  Read  this.  I  got  it  yes 
terday. 

NAT — [Turns  it  over  in  his  hands  suspiciously.] 
Who  from? 

SUE — Open  it  and  see. 

NAT — [Does  so  and  turns  over  the  pages  to  read 
the  signature — he  gives  a  start — hoarsely.]  Danny! 
It  can't  be !  But  it's  his  writing  sure  enough !  [He 
exclaims  with  a  sudden  wild  exultation.]  Then  they 
must  have  been  lying  to  me ! 

SUE — No,  the  Sarah  Allen  was  wrecked  all  right, 
but  that  was  afterwards.  He  wasn't  on  board  then. 
Read  it.  You'll  see.  [NAT  sinks  back  on  a  chair, 
evidently  depressed  by  this  information.  He  starts 
to  read  the  letter  with  unconcealed  indifference,  then 
becomes  engrossed,  excited,  the  paper  trembling  in 
his  hands.  The  Doctor  shakes  his  head  at  SUE  Wr 


GOLD  101 

dicatmg  his  disapproval  of  her  giving  him  the  letter. 
NAT  finishes  and  springs  to  his  feet — angrily.] 

NAT— The  stupid  fool!  He  let  Home  pull  the 
wool  over  his  eyes  in  fine  shape.  He  deserved  all  he 
got  for  being  so  dumb! 

SUE — [Indignantly.]     Nat ! 

NAT — [Unheedingly.]  Oh,  if  I  could  only  have 
gone  in  his  place !  I  knew  the  kind  Home  was.  He 
couldn't  have  played  that  trick  on  me.  I'd  have 

forced  the  secret  out  of  him  if  I  had  to [He 

raises  his  clenched  fist  in  a  gesture  of  threat  like  his 
father's — then  lets  it  fall  and  sits  down  again — dis 
gustedly.]  But  what's  the  use?  And  what's  the 
use  of  this?  [Tosses  the  letter  contemptuously  on 
the  table.]  He  might  just  as  well  not  have  written. 
We're  no  wiser  than  we  were  before. 

SUE — [Snatching  up  the  letter — deeply  hurt.] 
Aren't  you  even  glad  to  hear  Danny's  alive? 

NAT — [Turning  to  her  at  once — with  remorseful 
confusion.]  Yes — yes — of  course,  Sue — I  don't 
have  to  say  that,  do  I?  What  I  mean  is,  he  never 
found  out  from  Home — and  we're  no  wiser. 

DOCTOR — [Briskly — with  a  significant  glance  at 
SUE.]  Well,  Susan — Nat — I've  got  to  run  along — 
[Meaningly.]  I'll  be  over  again  tomorrow,  Susan. 

SUE — Yes,  do  come.  [Goes  with  him  to  the  door.] 
Can  you  see  your  way? 

DOCTOE — Yes.     Good  night. 


102  GOLD 

SUE — Good  night.  [She  closes  the  door  and  comes 
back  to  NAT.  The  Doctor's  footsteps  die  out.'] 

NAT— [Savagely.]  That  damned  old  fool!  What 
is  he  doing,  sneaking  around  here  all  the  time?  I've 
grown  to  hate  the  sight  of  him. 

SUE — Nat!     You  can't  mean  that.    Think  of  how 
kind  he's  been. 
,  NAT — Yes — kindness  with  a  purpose. 

SUE — Don't  be  silly.  What  purpose  could  he  have 
except  wanting  to  help  us? 

NAT — To  find  out  things,  of  course,  you  simple 
ton.  To  pump  Pa  when  he's  not  responsible  for 
what  he's  saying. 

SUE — [Indignantly.']     Nat! 

NAT — Much  good  it's  done  him !  I  know  Pa. 
Sane  or  not,  he  won't  tell  that  to  anyone — not  even 
you  or  me,  Sue.  [With  sudden  fury.]  I'm  going 
away — but  before  I  go  I'm  going  to  make  him  tell 
me !  He  won't  refuse  this  time  when  he  knows  I'm 
leaving  for  good.  He'll  be  glad  then.  He's  been 
so  afraid  I'd  find  out,  so  scared  to  speak  to  me  even 
—locking  himself  up  here.  But  I'll  make  him  tell 
— yes,  I  will! 

SUE — Careful,  Nat.  He'll  hear  you  if  you  shout 
like  that. 

NAT — But  we  have  a  right  to  know — his  own 
children.  What  if  he  dies  without  ever  speaking? 

SUE — [Uneasily.]  Be  sensible,  Nat.  There's 
nothing  to  tell  except  in  your  imagination.  [Tak- 


GOLD  103 

ing  his  arm — persuasively.]  Come  on  downstairs. 
I'll  get  you  something  to  eat.  You  must  be  starved, 
aren't  you? 

NAT — No — I  don't  know — I  suppose  I  ought  to 
be.  [He  gets  to  his  feet  and  glances  around  with  a 
shudder.]  What  a  place  for  him  to  build  to  wait 
in — like  the  cabin  of  a  ship  sunk  deep  under  the  sea 
—like  the  Sarah  Allen's  cabin  as  it  is  now,  prob 
ably.  [With  a  shiver.]  There's  a  chill  comes  over 
you.  No  wonder  he's  mad.  [He  listens.]  Hear  him. 
A  year  ago  today  she  sailed.  I  wonder  if  he  knows 
that.  Back  and  forth,  always  staring  out  to  sea 
for  the  Sarah  Allen.  Ha-ha !  God !  It  would  be 
funny  if  it  didn't  make  your  flesh  creep. 
[Brusquely.]  Come  on.  Let's  leave  him  and  go 
down  where  there's  light  and  warmth.  [They  go 
down  the  stairs,  closing  the  door  behind  them.  There 
is  a  pause.  Then  the  door  of  the  companionway 
above  is  heard  being  opened  and  shut.  A  gust  of 
wind  sweeps  down  into  the  room.  BARTLETT  stamps 
down  the  stairs.  The  madness  which  has  taken  al 
most,  complete  possession  of  him  in  the  past  year  is 
clearly  stamped  on  his  face,  particularly  in  his  eyes 
which  seem  to  stare  through  and  beyond  objects  with 
a  hunted,  haunted  expression.  His  movements  sug 
gest  an  automaton  obeying  invisible  wires.  They 
are  quick,  jerky,  spasmodic.  He  appears  to  be 
laboring  under  a  state  of  extraordinary  excitement. 
He  stands  for  a  second  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 


104  GOLD 

peering  about  "him  suspiciously.  Then  lie  goes  to  the 
table  and  sits  down  on  the  edge  of  a  chair,  his  chin 
supported  on  his  hands. ] 

B ART-LETT — [Takes  a  folded  piece  of  paper  from 
Ms  pocket  and  spreads  it  out  on  the  table  in  the 
light  of  the  lantern — pointing  with  his  finger — mum- 
blingly]  Where  the  cross  be — ye'll  not  forget  that, 
Silas  Home.  Ye  had  a  copy  o'  this — no  chance  for 
a  mistake,  bullies — the  gold's  there,  restin'  safe — 
back  to  me  and  we'll  share  it  fair  and  square.  A 
year  ago  today — ye  remember  the  orders  I  wrote 
ye,  Home.  [Threateningly.']  Ye'll  not  be  gone 
more  nor  a  year  or  I'll — and  if  ye  make  port  to  home 
here  at  night,  hang  a  red  and  a  green  light  at  the 
mainm'st  head  so  I'll  see  ye  comin.'  A  red  and  a 

green [He  springs  up  suddenly  and  goes  to  a 

porthole  to  look  out  at  the  sea — disappointedly.] 
No  light  be  there — but  they'll  come.  The  year  be 

up  today  and  yeVe  got  to  come  or  I'll [He 

sinks  back  on  the  chair,  his  head  in  his  hands.  Sud 
denly  he  starts  and  stares  straight  in  front  of  him 
as  if  he  saw  something  in  the  air — with  angry  de 
fiance.]  Aye,  there  ye  be  again — the  two  o'  ye! 
Makin'  a  mock  o'  me!  Brass  and  junk,  ye  say,  not 
worth  a  damn!  Ye  don't  believe,  do  ye?  I'll  show 
ye !  [He  springs  to  his  feet  and  makes  a  motion  as 
if  grabbing  someone  by  the  throat  and  shaking  them 
— savagely.]  Ye  lie!  Is  it  gold  or  no?  Answer 
me!  [With  a  mocking  laugh]  Aye,  ye  own  up 


GOLD  105 

to  it  now,  right  enough.  Too  late,  ye  swabs !  No 
share  for  ye !  [He  sinks  back  on  the  chair  again — 
after  a  pause,  dully.]  Jimmy's  gone.  Let  them  rot. 
But  I  spoke  no  word,  Silas  Home,  remember!  {Then 
in  a  tone  of  fear]  Be  ye  dyin',  Sarah?  No,  ye  must 
live — live  to  see  your  ship  come  home  with  the  gold 
— and  I'll  buy  ye  all  in  the  world  ye  set  your  heart 
on.  No,  not  ambergris,  Sarah — gold  and  diamonds 
and  sech!  We're  rich  at  last!  [Then  with  great 
anguish.]  What  woman's  stubborn  talk  be  this? 
Confess,  ye  say?  But  I  spoke  no  word,  I  swear  to 
ye!  Why  will  ye  hound  me  and  think  evil  o'  what 
I  done?  Men's  business,  I  tell  ye.  They  would  have 
killed  us  and  stolen  the  gold,  can't  ye  see?  [Wildly.] 
Enough  o'  talk,  Sarah!  I'll  sail  out  in  spite  o*  ye! 
[fie  gets  to  his  feet  and  paces  up  and  down  the 
room.  The  door  in  the  rear  is  opened  and  NAT  re- 
enters.  He  glances  at  his  father,  then  looks  down 
the  stairs  behind  him  cautiously  to  see  if  he  is  fol 
lowed.  He  comes  in  and  closes  the  door  behind  him 
carefully.] 

NAT — [In  a  low  voice.]  Pa!  [Then  as  his  father 
does  not  appear  to  notice  his  presence — louder.] 
Pa! 

BARTLETT — [Stops  short  and  stares  at  his  son  as 
if  he  were  gradually  awakening  from  a  dream — 
slowly]  Be  that  ye,  Nat? 

NAT — [Coming  forward.]  Yes.  I  want  to  talk 
with  you. 


106  GOLD 

BARTLETT — [Struggling  to  bring  his  thoughts 
under  control.]  Talk?  Ye  want  to  talk — to  me? 
Men's  business — no  room  for  a  boy  in  it — keep  clear 
o'  this. 

NAT — [Defiantly]  That's  what  you've  always 
said.  But  I  won't  be  put  off  any  longer.  I  won't, 
do  you  hear? 

BARTLETT — [Angrily]  I've  ordered  ye  not  to 
set  foot  in  this  cabin  o'  mine.  Git  below  where  ye 
belong.  Where's  Sue?  I  told  her  to  keep  ye  away. 

NAT — She  can't  prevent  me  this  time.  I've  made 
up  my  mind.  Listen,  Pa.  I'm  going  away  to 
morrow. 

BARTLETT — [Uncertainly]     Goin'  away? 

NAT — Yes,  and  I'm  never  coming  back.  I'm  go 
ing  to  start  a  new  life.  That's  why  I  want  a  final 
talk  with  you — before  I  go. 

BARTLETT — [Dully.]     I've  naught  to  say  to  ye. 

NAT — You  will  have.  Listen.  I've  absolute  proof 
the  Sarah  Allen  is  lost. 

BARTLETT — [Fiercely.]     Ye  lie! 

NAT — [Curiously]  Why  do  you  say  that?  You 
know  it's  true.  It's  just  that  you  won't  believe. 

BARTLETT — [  Wanderingly — the  word  heading  his 
mind  into  another  channel]  Believe?  Aye,  he 
wouldn't  believe.  Brass  and  junk,  he  said,  not  worth 
a  damn — but  in  the  end  I  made  him  own  up  'twas 
gold. 

NAT — [Repeating  the  word  fascinatedly.'}    Gold? 


GOLD  107 

BARTLETT — A  year  ago  today  she  sailed.  Ye  lie! 
Ye  don't  believe  either,  do  ye?— like  him.  But  I'll 
show  ye !  I'll  make  ye  own  up  as  I  made  him !  [  With 
mad  exultation.]  She's  comin'  home  tonight  as  I 
ordered  Home  she  must !  I  kin  feel  her  makin'  for 
home,  I  tell  ye !  A  red  an*  a  green  at  the  mainm'st- 
head  if  ye  make  port  o*  night,  I  ordered  Home. 
Ye'll  see !  [He  goes  to  look  out  of  a  porthole.  NAT, 
as  if  under  a  spell,  goes  to  another. ] 

NAT — [Turning  away  disappointedly — making  an 
effort  to  throw  off  his  thoughts — without  convic 
tion.']  Nonsense.  There's  nothing  there — no  lights 
— and  I  don't  believe  there  ever  will  be. 

BARTLETT — [His  wild  eyes  fixed  on  his  son's 
with  an  intense  effort  of  will  as  if  he  were  trying  to 
break  down  his  resistance.'}  Ye'll  see,  I  tell  ye — 
a  red  and  a  green !  It  ain't  time  yet,  boy,  but  when 
it  be  they'll  be  plain  in  the  night  afore  your  eyes. 
[He  goes  and  sits  down  by  the  table.  NAT 
follows  him  and  sits  down  in  the  other  chair.  He 
sees  the  map  and  stares  at  it  fascinatedly.] 

NAT — What  is  this — the  map  of  the  island?  [He 
reaches  out  his  hand  for  it.~\ 

BARTLETT — [Snatching  it  up — with  a  momentary 
return  to  reason — f  right  enedly.]  Not  for  ye,  boy. 
Keep  clear  o'  this  for  your  own  good.  [Then  with  a 
crazed  triumph."]  Aye!  Ye'd  believe  this  soon 
enough,  wouldn't  ye? 

NAT — [Intensely.]      I've    always    believed    there 


108  GOLD 

was  something — and  a  moment  ago  you  mentioned 
gold.  [Triumphant  in  his  turn.]  So  you  needn't 
try  to  hide  the  secret  any  longer.  I  know  now.  It's 
gold — gold  you  found  on  that  island — gold  you 
fitted  out  the  Sarah  Allen  to  sail  back  for — gold  you 
buried  where  I  saw  that  cross  marked  on  the  map ! 
[Passionately.]  Why  have  you  been  afraid  to  con 
fide  in  me,  your  own  son?  Why  didn't  you  let  me 
sail  back  in  your  place?  Were  you  afraid  I'd  give 
the  secret  away?  Did  you  think  I  wouldn't  be 
lieve ? 

BARTLETT — [With  a  mad  chuckle.]  Aye,  ye  be 
lieve  now,  right  enough. 

NAT — I  always  believed,  I  tell  you.  [Pleadingly.] 
And  now  that  I  know  so  much  why  can't  you  tell  me 
the  rest?  I  must  know!  I  have  a  right  to  be  heir 
to  the  secret.  Why  don't  you  confess 

BARTLETT — [Interrupting — his  brain  catching  at 
the  word.]  Confess?  Confess,  did  ye  say,  Sarah? 
To  Nat,  did  ye  mean?  Aye,  Sarah,  I'll  tell  him  all 
and  leave  it  to  him  to  say  if  I  did  wrong.  [His 
gleaming  eyes  -fixed  on  his  son's.]  I'll  tell  ye,  boy, 
from  start  to  finish  o'  it.  I  been  eatin'  my  heart  to 
tell  someone — someone  who'd  believe — someone  that'd 
say  I  did  no  wrong.  Listen,  boy,  ye  know  o*  our 
four  days  in  an  open  boat  after  the  Triton  went 
down.  I  told  ye  o'  that  when  I  come  home.  But 
what  I  didn't  tell  ye  was  they  was  six  o*  us  in  that 
boat,  not  four. 


GOLD  109 

NAT — Six?  There  were  you  and  Home  and  Gates 
and  Jimmy 

BARTLETT^— The  cook  o'  the  Triton  and  the  ship's 
boy.  We'd  been  on  the  island  two  days — an  island 
barren  as  hell,  mind — without  food  or  drink.  We 
was  roasted  by  the  sun  and  nigh  mad  with  thirst. 
Then,  on  the  second  day,  I  seed  a  Malay  canoe — a 
proper  war  canoe  such  as  the  pirates  use — sunk 
down  inside  the  reef.  I  sent  Jimmy  down  to  go  over 
her  thinkin'  they  might  be  some  cask  o'  water  in  her 
the  sea'd  not  got  to.  [With  impressive  emphasis.'] 
He  found  no  water,  boy,  but  he  did  find — d'ye  know 
what,  boy? 

NAT — [Exultantly.]     The  gold,  of  course! 

BARTLETT — [Laughing  harshly.]  Ha-ha!  Ye 
do  believe  right  enough,  don't  ye !  Aye,  the  gold — 
in  a  chest.  We  hauled  her  up  ashore  and  forced  the 
lid  open.  [Gloatingly.]  And  there  it  was  afore  our 
eyes  in  the  sun — gold  bracelets  and  rings  and  orna 
ments  o'  all  sorts  fixed  up  fancy  with  diamonds  and 
emeralds  and  rubies  and  sech — red  and  green — 
shinin'  in  the  sun !  [He  stops  impressively] 

NAT — [Fascinatedly]     Diamonds  and But 

how  did  they  get  there? 

BARTL.ETT — Looted  treasure  o'  some  Chinese 
junk,  likely.  What  matter  how  it  come  about? 
There  it  was  afore  our  eyes.  And  then,  mind  ye, 
that  thief  o'  a  cook  came  runnin'  up  from  where 
he'd  been  shirkin'  to  look  at  what  we'd  found.  "No 


110  GOLD 

share  for  ye,  ye  swab,"  I  yelled  at  him ;  and  then  he 
says:  "It  ain't  gold — brass  and  junk,"  he  says  and 
run  off  for  fear  o'  me.  Aye,  he  run  off  to  the  boy 
and  told  him  to  jine  with  his  sneakin'  plan  to  steal 
the  gold  from  us ! 

NAT — [Savagely.']  But  why  didn't  you  stop 
him?  Why  didn't  you ? 

BARTLETT — I  be  comin'  to  that,  boy,  and  ye'll  see 
if  I  did  wrong.  We  carried  the  chest  to  the  shade 
o'  a  palm  and  there  was  that  thief  o'  a  cook  an'  the 
boy  waitin'.  I  collared  'em  both  and  made  'em  look 
at  the  gold.  "Look  and  tell  me  if  it's  gold  or  no," 
I  says.  [Triumphantly.']  They  was  afeerd  to  lie. 
Even  that  thief  o'  a  cook  owned  up  'twas  gold.  Then 
when  I  turned  'em  loose,  because  he  knowed  he'd  git 
no  share,  he  shouted  again:  "Brass  and  junk.  Not 
worth  a  damn." 

NAT — [Furiously.]     But  why  did  you  allow 

Why  didn't  you 

BARTLETT — [With  mad  satisfaction.']  Aye,  ye  be 
seein'  the  way  o'  it,  boy.  It  was  just  then  we 
sighted  the  schooner  that  picked  us  up  after.  We 
made  a  map  and  was  burryin'  the  gold  when  we  no 
ticed  them  two  thieves  sneakin'  about  to  see  where 
we'd  hide  it.  I  saw  'em  plain,  the  scum !  That  thief 
o'  a  cook  was  thinkin'  he'd  tell  the  folks  on  the 
schooner  and  go  shares  with  them — and  leave  us  on 
the  island  to  rot;  or  he  was  thinkin'  he  and  the 
boy'd  be  able  to  come  back  and  dig  it  up  afore  I 


GOLD  111 

could.  We  had  to  do  somethin'  quick  to  spile  their 
plan  afore  the  schooner  come.  [In  a  tone  of  savage 
satisfaction.]  And  so — though  I  spoke  no  word  to 
him — Jimmy  knifed  'em  both  and  covered  'em  up 
with  sand.  But  I  spoke  no  word,  d'ye  hear?  Their 
deaths  be  on  Jimmy's  head  alone. 

NAT — [Passionately.]  And  what  if  you  had? 
They  deserved  what  they  got. 

BARTLETT — Then  ye  think  I  did  no  wrong? 

NAT — No!  Any  man — I'd  have  done  the  same 
myself. 

BARTLETT — [Gripping  his  son's  hand  tensely.] 
Ye  be  true  son  o'  mine,  Nat.  I  ought  to  told  ye  be 
fore.  [Exultantly.]  Ye  hear,  Sarah?  Nat  says  I 
done  no  wrong. 

NAT — The  map!     Can  I  see  it? 

BARTLETT — Aye.  [He  hands  it  to  NAT  who 
spreads  it  out  on  the  table  and  pores  over  it.] 

NAT — [Excitedly.]  Why,  with  this  I — we — can 
go  back — even  if  the  Sarah  Allen  is  lost. 

BARTLETT — She  ain't  lost,  boy — not  her.  Don't 
heed  them  lies  ye  been  hearin'.  She's  due  now.  I'll 
go  up  and  look.  [He  goes  up  the  companionway 
stairs.  NAT  does  not  seem  to  notice  his  going,  ab 
sorbed  in  the  map.  Then  there  is  a  loud  muffled  hail 
in  BARTLETT'S  voice.]  "Sarah  Allen,  ahoyi"  [NAT 
starts,  transfixed — then  rushes  to  one  of  the  port 
holes  to  look.  He  turns  back,  passing  his  hand  over 
his  eyes,  frowning  bewilderedly.  The  door  above  is 


112  GOLD 

flung  open  and  slammed  shut  and  BARTLETT  stamps 
down  the  stairs.] 

BARTLETT — [Fixing  NAT  hypnotically  with  his 
eyes — triumphantly.]  What  did  I  tell  ye?  D'ye 
believe  now  she'll  come  back?  D'ye  credit  your  own 
eyes  ? 

NAT—  [Vaguely.]      Eyes?      I   looked.      I   didn't 

BARTLETT — Ye  lie!  The  Sarah  Allen,  ye  blind 
fool,  come  back  from  the  Southern  Seas  as  I  swore 
she  must !  Loaded  with  gold  as  I  swore  she  would 
be! — makin*  port! — droppin'  her  anchor  just  when 
I  hailed  her. 

NAT — [Feebly,  his  will  crumbling.']  But — how 
do  you  know? — some  other  schooner 

BARTLETT — Not  know  my  own  ship — and  the  sig 
nal  I'd  ordered  Home  to  make! 

NAT — [Mechanically.]  I  know — a  red  and  a 
green  at  the  mainm'sthead. 

BARTLETT — Then  look  out  if  ye  dare!  [He  goes 
to  a  porthole.]  Ye  kin  see  it  plain  from  here. 
[Commandingly.]  Will  ye  believe  your  eyes?  Look! 
[NAT  comes  to  him  slowly — looks  through  the  port- 
hole — and  starts  back,  a  possessed  expression  com 
ing  over  his  face.] 

NAT — [Slowly.]  A  red  and  a  green — clear  as 
day! 

BARTLETT — [His  face  is  now  transfigured  by  the 
ecstasy  of  a  dream  come  true.]  They've  lowered  a 


GOLD  113 

boat — the  three — Home  an*  Gates  and  Jimmy  Ka 
naka.  They're  rowin'  ashore.  Listen.  I  hear  the 
oars  in  the  locks.  Listen! 

NAT — [Staring  into  his  father's  eyes — after  a 
pause  during  which  he  appears  to  be  straining  his 
hearing  to  the  breaking  point — excitedly. ~\  I  hear! 

BARTLETT — Listen!  They've  landed.  They'll  be 
comin'  up  the  path  now.  [In  a  crooning,  monoto 
nous  tone.~\  They  move  slowly — slowly.  It  be  heavy, 
I  know — that  chest.  [After  a  pause.]  Hark! 
They're  below  at  the  door  in  front. 

NAT — I  hear! 

BARTLETT — Ye'll  see  it  now  in  a  moment,  boy — 
the  gold.  Up  with  it,  bullies!  Up  ye  come!  Up, 
bullies!  It's  heavy,  heavy! 

NAT — [Madly.]  I  hear  them!  They're  on  the 
floor  below!  They're  coming!  I'll  open  the  door. 
[He  springs  to  the  door  and  flings  it  open,  shout 
ing.]  Welcome  home,  boys!  [SUE  is  discovered  out 
side  just  climbing  up  the  stairs  from  below.  She 
steps  inside,  then  stops,  looking  with  amazement  and 
horror  from  father  to  brother.  NAT  pushes  her 
roughly  aside  to  look  behind  her  down  the  stairs.] 

SUE— Nat ! 

NAT — [Turning  to  his  father.]     Til  go  down  to 

the  wharf.     They  must  be  there  or [The  rest 

of  his  words  are  lost  as  he  hurries  down  the  stairs. 
BARTLETT    steps    back,    shrinking    away   from   his 


114  GOLD 

daughter,  and  sinks  on  a  chair  by  the  table  with  a 
groan,  his  hands  over  his  eyes.~\ 

SUE — [Comes  to  him  and  shakes  him  by  the  shoul 
der — alarmed.']  Pa!  What  has  happened?  What 
is  the  matter  with  Nat?  What  have  you  told  him? 
[With  bitter  despair. ~\  Oh,  can't  you  see  you're 
driving  him  mad,  too? 

BARTLETT — [Letting  his  hands  fall  and  staring  at 
her  haggardly — falteringly,  as  if  reason  were  slowly 
filtering  back  into  his  brain.]  Sue — ye  said — drivin' 

him  mad,  too !  Then  ye  think  I  be ?  [He  stag- 

gers  to  his  feet.  SUE  breaks  down,  sobbing.  BART- 
LETT  falters  on.]  But  I  seen  her — the  Sarah  Allen 
— the  signal  lights 

SUE — Oh,  Pa,  there's  nothing  there!  You  know 
it !  She  was  lost  months  ago. 

BARTLETT — Lost?  [He  stumbles  over  to  a  port 
hole  and  looks  out.  His  body  sags  as  if  he  were 
gomg  to  fall.  He  turns  away  and  cries  hopelessly  in 
a  tone  of  heart-rending  grief. ]  Lost!  Aye,  they  be 
no  Sarah  Allen  there — no  lights — nothin' ! 

SUE — [Pleading  fiercely.]  Pa,  you've  got  to  save 
Nat!  He  won't  heed  anyone  else.  Can't  you  tell 
him  the  truth — the  whole  truth  whatever  it  is — now 
when  I'm  here  and  you're  yourseli  again — and  set 
him  free  from  this  crazy  dream ! 

BARTLETT — [With  wild  grief.]  Confess,  ye  mean? 
Sue,  ye  be  houndin'  me  like  your  Ma  did  to  her 
dyin'  hour!  Confess — that  I  spoke  the  word  to 


GOLD  115 

Jimmy — in  my  mind!  Confess — brass  and  junk — • 
not  worth  a  damn !  [In  frenzied  protest. ]  No !  Ye 
Jie! 

SUE — Oh,  Pa,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  Tell 
Nat  the  truth !  Save  him ! 

BARTLETT— -^eJ^uiMJt^,  1^  [As  SUE  tries 
to  bar  his  way  to  the  companionway — sternly.'}  Out 
o'  my  way,  girl!  [He  pulls  himself  feebly  up  the 
stairs.  The  door  is  heard  slamming  above.  SUE  sits 
down  in  a  chair  in  a  hopeless,  exhausted  attitude. 
After  a  pause  NAT  re-enters.  He  is  panting  heavily 
from  his  exertions.  His  pale  face  is  set  in  an  ex 
pression  of  despair.] 

NAT — [Looking  about  the  room  wildly. ~]  Where 
is  he?  Sue!  [He  comes  forward  and  falls  on  his 
knees  beside  her  chair,  hiding  his  face  in  her  lap  like 
a  frightened  child.  He  sobs  hoarsely. ]  Sue!  What 
does  it  all  mean?  I  looked.  There  was  nothing 
there — no  schooner — nothing. 

SUE — [Soothing  him  as  if  he  were  a  little  boy] 
Of  course  there  wasn't.  Did  you  expect  there  would 
be,  you  foolish  boy?  Come,  you  know  better  than 
that.  Why,  Nat,  you  told  the  doctor  and  I  that  you 
were  absolutely  convinced  the  Sarah  Allen  was  lost. 

NAT—  [Dully.]  Yes,  I  know— but  I  don't  be 
lieve — like  him 

SUE — Sshhhh!  You  know  the  state  Pa  is  in. 
He  doesn't  realize  what  he's  saying  half  the  time. 


116  GOLD 

You  ought  to  have  better  sense  than  to  pay  any 
attention 

NAT — [Excitedly.]  But  he  told  me  all  he's  been 
hiding  from  us — all  about  the  gold! 

SUE — [Looking  at  him  with  alarm — mystified.] 
Gold?  [Then  forcing  a  smile.]  Don't  be  silly,  Nat. 
It  doesn't  exist  except  in  his  poor,  deranged  mind. 

NAT — [Fiercely.]  That's  a  lie,  Sue!  I  saw  the 
map,  I  tell  you — the  map  of  the  island  with  a  cross 
marked  on  it  where  they  buried  the  gold. 

SUE — He  showed  a  map  to  you — a  real  map? 
[Gently.]  Are  you  sure  you're  not  just  imagining 
that,  too? 

NAT — I  had  it  in  my  hands,  you  fool,  you !  There 
— on  the  table.  [He  springs  to  his  feet,  sees  the  map 
on  the  table,  and  snatches  it  up  with  an  exclamation 
Of  j0y — showing  it  to  SUE.]  See!  Now  will  you 
believe  me!  [She  examines  the  map  perplexedly. 
NAT  paces  up  and  down — excitedly.]  I  tell  you  it's 
all  true.  You  can't  deny  it  now.  It's  lucky  for  us 
I  forced  him  to  confess.  He  might  have  died  keeping 
the  secret  and  then  we'd  have  lost — I'll  tell  you  what 
I'm  going  to  do  now,  Sue.  I'm  going  to  raise  the 
money  somewhere,  somehow,  and  fit  out  another 
schooner  and  this  time  I'll  sail  on  her  myself.  No 
trusting  to  Danny  or  anyone  else!  Yes,  Sue,  we'll 
come  into  our  own  yet,  even  if  the  Sarah  Allen  is 

lost [He  stops — then  in  accents  of  bewildered 

fear.]     But — she  can't  be  lost — I  saw  the  lights, 


GOLD  117 

Sue — red  and  green — as  plain  as  I  see  you  now 

[He  goes  to  one  of  the  portholes  again.'] 

SUE — [Who  has  been  watching  him  worriedly, 
puts  the  map  back  on  the  table,  gets  up  and,  as 
suming  a  brisk,  matter-of-fact  tone,  she  goes  over 
and  takes  him  by  the  arm.~\  Come  downstairs,  Nat. 
Don't  think  any  more  about  it  tonight.  It's  late 
and  you're  worn  out.  You  need  rest  and  a  good 
sleep. 

NAT — [Following  her  toward  the  door — con 
fusedly.']  But  Sue — I  saw  them [From  above 

in  the  night  comes  the  muffled  hail  in  BARTLETT'S 
voice.]  Sarah  Allen,  ahoy!  [NAT  stops,  tortured, 
his  hands  instinctively  raised  up  to  cover  his  ears. 
SUE  gives  a  startled  cry.  The  door  above  is  slammed 
and  BARTLETT  comes  down  the  stairs,  his  face  re 
vealing  that  the  delusion  has  again  full  possession 
of  his  mind.'] 

BARTLETT — [Pointing  his  finger  at  his  son  and 
fixing  him  with  his  eyes — in  ringing,  triumphant 
tones. ~]  The  Sarah  Allen,  boy — in  the  harbor  be 
low — a  red  and  a  green  plain  afore  my  eyes !  What 
did  I  tell  ye,  boy?  Come  back  from  the  Southern 
Seas  as  I  swore  she  must!  Loaded  with  gold  as  I 
swore  she  would  be!  [NAT  again  seems  to  crumble 
—to  give  way  to  the  stronger  will.  He  takes  a  step 
toward  his  father,  his  eyes  lighting  up.  SUE  looks 
at  his  face — then  rushes  to  her  father.] 


118  GOLD 

SUE — [Putting  her  hands  to  her  father's  head 
and  forcing  him  to  look  down  into  her  face — in 
tensely.]  Pa  !  Stop,  do  you  hear  me !  It's  all  mad ! 
You're  driving  Nat  mad,  too!  [As  she  sees  her 
•father  hesitate,  the. wild  light  dying  out  of  his  eyes, 
she  summons  all  her  power  to  a  -fierce  pleading.'] 
For  my  sake,  Pa!  For  Ma's  sake!  Think  of  how 
she  would  feel  if  she  were  alive  and  saw  you  acting 
this  way  with  Nat !  Tell  him !  Tell  him  now — be 
fore  me — tell  him  it's  all  a  lie! 

BARTLETT — [Trying  in  an  agony  of  conflict  to 
get  hold  of  his  reason — incoherently.'}  Yes,  Sue — 
I  hear  ye — confess — aye,  Sarah,  your  dyin'  words 
— keep  Nat  clear  o*  this — but — red  and  green — I 
seen  'em  plain [Then  suddenly  after  a  tre 
mendous  struggle,  lifting  his  tortured  face  to  NAT'S 
— in  tones  of  despair. ,]  Nothin'  there,  boy!  Don't 
ye  believe!  No  red  and  green!  She'll  never  come! 
Derelict  and  lost,  boy,  the  Sarah  Allen.  [After  an 
other  struggle  with  himself.]  And  I  lied  to  ye,  boy. 
I  gave  the  word — in  my  mind — to  kill  them  two.  I 
murdered  'em  in  cold  blood. 

SUE — [Shrinking  from  him  in  horror.]  Pa!  You 
don't  know  what  you're  saying. 

BARTLETT — The  truth,  girl.  Ye  said — con 
fess 

NAT — [Bewilderedly.]  But — it  was  right.  They 
were  trying  to  steal 

BARTLETT — [Overcome  by  the  old  obsession  for 


GOLD  119 

a  moment — savagely.]  Aye,  that's  it!  The  thievin' 

scum!  They  was  tryin' [He  stops  short, 

throwing  his  head  back,  his  whole  body  tense  and 
quivering  with  the  effort  he  makes  to  force  this  sus 
taining  lie  out  of  his  brain — then,  broken  but  self- 
conquering,  he  looks  again  at  NAT — gently.]  No, 
Nat.  That  be  the  lie  I  been  tellin'  myself  ever  since. 

That  cook — he  said  'twas  brass But  I'd  been 

lookin'  for  ambergris — gold — the  whole  o'  my  life 
— and  when  we  found  that  chest — I  had  to  believe, 
I  tell  ye !  I'd  been  dreamin'  o'  it  all  my  days !  But 
he  said  brass  and  junk,  and  told  the  boy — and  I 
give  the  word  to  murder  'em  both  and  cover  'em  up 
with  sand. 

NAT — [Very  pale — despairingly."]  But  he  lied, 
didn't  he?  It  is  gold — real  gold — isn't  it? 

BARTLETT — [Slowly  takes  the  studded  anklet 
from  his  pocket  and  holds  it  out  to  NAT.  The  latter 
brings  it  to  the  light  of  the  lantern.  BARTLETT  sits 
on  a  chair,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands — in  a 
tone  of  terrible  suffering.]  Ye'll  tell  me,  boy — if 
it's  gold  or  no.  I've  had  it  by  me  all  this  time — but 
I've  been  afeerd  to  show 

NAT — [In  a  tone  of  wild  scorn]  Why,  it's  brass, 
of  course!  The  cheapest  kind  of  junk — not  worth 
a  damn !  [He  flings  it  savagely  into  a  corner  of  the 
room.  BARTLETT  groans  and  seems  to  shrink  up 
and  turn  into  a  figure  of  pitiable  feebleness.] 

SUE — [Pityingly.']     Don't,  Nat.     [She  puts  her 


120  GOLD 

arms  arownd  Tier  -father's  shoulders  protectingly.] 
NAT — [In  a  stifled  voice. ~\     What  a  damned  fool 
I've  been!     [He  flings  himself  down  on  the  cot,  his 
shoulders  heaving.] 

BARTLETT — [Uncovers  his  grey  face  on  which 
there  is  now  settling  an  expression  of  strange  peace 
— stroking  his  daughter's  hand.~\  Sue — don't  think 
hard  o'  me.  [He  takes  the  map.]  An  end  to  this! 
[He  slowly  tears  it  into  small  pieces,  seeming  to  grow 
weaker  and  weaker  as  he  does  so.  Finally  as  he  lets 
the  fragments  filter  through  his  fingers,  his  whole 
frame  suddenly  relaxes.  He  sighs,  his  eyes  shut,  and 
sags  back  in  his  chair,  his  head  bent  forward  limply 
on  his  chest. ~\ 

SUE — [Alarmed.]  Pa!  [She  sinks  to  her  knees 
beside  him  and  looks  up  into  his  face.]  Pa !  Speak 
to  me!  It's  Sue!  [Then  turning  toward  her  brother 
• — terrifledly.]  Nat !  Run — get  the  doctor — 
[NAT  starts  to  a  sitting  position.  SUE  tries  with 
trembling  hands  to  feel  of  her  father's  pulse,  his 
heart — then  begins  to  sob  hysterically.']  Oh,  Nat — 
he's  dead,  I  think — he's  dead ! 

[The  Curtain  Falls] 


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